Good daughter, take his hand—by love alone God binds us to Himself and to the hearth And shuts us from the waste beyond His peace, From maddening freedom and bewildering light. SHAWN BRUIN. Would that the world were mine to give it you With every quiet hearth and barren waste, The maddening freedom of its woods and tides, And the bewildering light upon its hills. MAIRE BRUIN. Then I would take and break it in my hands To see you smile watching it crumble away. SHAWN BRUIN. Then I would mould a world of fire and dew With no one bitter, grave, or over-wise, And nothing marred or old to do you wrong; And crowd the enraptured quiet of the sky With candles burning to your lonely face. MAIRE BRUIN. Your looks are all the candles that I need. SHAWN BRUIN. Once a fly dancing in a beam of the sun, Or the light wind blowing out of the dawn, Could fill your heart with dreams none other knew, But now the indissoluble sacrament Has mixed your heart that was most proud and cold With my warm heart for ever; and sun and moon Must fade and heaven be rolled up like a scroll; But your white spirit still walk by my spirit. [_A VOICE sings in the distance._ MAIRE BRUIN. Did you hear something call? O, guard me close, Because I have said wicked things to-night; And seen a pale-faced child with red-gold hair, And longed to dance upon the winds with her. A VOICE [_close to the door_]. _The wind blows out of the gates of the day, The wind blows over the lonely of heart, And the lonely of heart is withered away, While the faeries dance in a place apart, Shaking their milk-white feet in a ring, Tossing their milk-white arms in the air; For they hear the wind laugh, and murmur and sing Of a land where even the old are fair, And even the wise are merry of tongue; But I heard a reed of Coolaney say, ‘When the wind has laughed and murmured and sung, The lonely of heart is withered away!’_ MAURTEEN BRUIN. I am right happy, and would make all else Be happy too. I hear a child outside, And will go bring her in out of the cold. [_He opens the door. A CHILD dressed in pale green and with red-gold hair comes into the house._ THE CHILD. I tire of winds and waters and pale lights! MAURTEEN BRUIN. You are most welcome. It is cold out there; Who’d think to face such cold on a May Eve? THE CHILD. And when I tire of this warm little house There is one here who must away, away, To where the woods, the stars, and the white streams Are holding a continual festival. MAURTEEN BRUIN. O listen to her dreamy and strange talk. Come to the fire. THE CHILD. I will sit upon your knee, For I have run from where the winds are born, And long to rest my feet a little while. [_She sits upon his knee._ BRIDGET BRUIN.