Page:The poetical works of Matthew Arnold, 1897.djvu/203

Rh The wild white horses foam and fret."

Margaret! Margaret!

Come, dear children, come away down:

Call no more!

One last look at the white-walled town,

And the little gray church on the windy shore;

Then come down!

She will not come, though you call all day;

Come away, come away!

Children dear, was it yesterday

We heard the sweet bells over the bay,—

In the caverns where we lay,

Through the surf and through the swell,

The far-off sound of a silver bell?

Sand-strewn caverns, cool and deep,

Where the winds are all asleep;

Where the spent lights quiver and gleam,

Where the salt weed sways in the stream,

Where the sea-beasts, ranged all round,

Feed in the ooze of their pasture-ground;

Where the sea-snakes coil and twine,

Dry their mail and bask in the brine;

Where great whales come sailing by,

Sail and sail, with unshut eye,

Round the world for ever and aye?

When did music come this way?

Children dear, was it yesterday?

Children dear, was it yesterday

(Call yet once) that she went away?

Once she sate with you and me,

On a red gold throne in the heart of the sea,

And the youngest sate on her knee.