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 must wither 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 a green jacket with a red cap 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'll 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. How pretty you are! MAURTEEN BRUIN. Your hair is wet with dew! BRIDGET BRUIN. I'll chafe your poor chilled feet. MAURTEEN BRUIN. You must have come A long long way, for I have never seen Your pretty face, and must be tired and hungry; Here is some bread and wine. THE CHILD. They are both nasty. Old mother, have you nothing nice for me? BRIDGET BRUIN. I have some honey! [_She goes into the next room._ MAURTEEN BRUIN. You are a dear child; The mother was quite cross before you came. [BRIDGET _returns with the honey, and goes to the dresser and fills a porringer with milk._ BRIDGET BRUIN. She is the child of gentle people; look At her white hands and at her pretty dress. I've brought you some new milk, but wait awhile And I will put it by the fire to warm, For things well fitted for poor folk like us Would never please a high-born child like you. THE CHILD. Old mother, my old mother, the green dawn Brightens above while you blow up the fire; And evening finds you spreading the white cloth. The young may lie in bed and dream and hope, But you work on because your heart is old. BRIDGET BRUIN. The young are idle. THE CHILD. Old father, you are wise, And all the years have gathered in your heart To whisper of the wonders that are gone. The young must sigh through many a dream and hope, But you are wise because your heart is old. MAURTEEN BRUIN. O, who would think to find so young a child Loving old age and wisdom. [BRIDGET _gives her more bread and honey._ THE CHILD. No more, mother. MAURTEEN BRUIN.