…
Away with us he's going,
The solemn-eyed,
He'll hear no more the lowing,
Of the calves on the warm hillside,
Or the kettle on the hob.
Sing peabsp; into his breast,
Or see the brown mibsp; bob,
Round and round the oatmeal-chest.
For he es, the human child,
To the waters and the wild,
With a faery, hand in hand,
From a world more full of weeping