'Neath a thorn as white as snow
High above the peacock sea,
Hither, thither, to and fro
Merrily the grey rats go,
To the song of ebb and flow,
Moving as to melody.

Over gnarled roots high and low,
Twisting, frisking fearlessly,
Six young hearts that needs must know,
When the ragged thorn's in blow,
Spring and spring's desire, and so
Dance above the dancing sea.