Where the wandering water gushes

Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car,
In pools among the rushes
That scarce could bathe a star,
We seek for slumbering trout
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams;
Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears
Over the young streams.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
From the Stolen Child by WB Yeats.


This was just a dribble the other day but now, after several days of nonstop rain, it is gushing. I risked a walk when the going was just soft but once I was on the mountain, the heavens opened again. I carried on, meeting three cheerful Australians making their way across the bog - no sign of any stolen children though. Well none that I could see. 
The Stolen Child still spine tingling