Page:The Poetical Works of William Motherwell, 1849.djvu/223

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139

And every labouring wave
That doth their small feet lave,
Gives them a ghastly lover
To wring their white hands over,
And tear their spray-wet hair
In the madness of despair;—
Oh then, oh then, oh then,
We hurry home amain;
For their heart-piercing cries,
Shame our wild revelries!