On Appledore’s shoulder,—

The prettiest sight!

A flutter of white,

One by one they a-light

On the dark, jutting bowlder;

A flutter of white

On Appledore’s shoulder.

Six girls in a flock

Where the white sea is breaking

Against the gray rock.

Six girls in a flock—

Their gay voices mock

The din it is making;

Six girls in a flock

Where the white sea is breaking.

Each flutters and clings

To the torn granite edges,—

The merriest things!

Each flutters and clings.

Have they feathers and wings,

As they perch on the ledges?

Each flutters and clings

To the torn granite edges.