(SHAWN BRUIN leads her to a seat at the left of the door.) SHAWN. Do not blame me; I often lie awake Thinking that all things trouble your bright head. How beautiful it is--your broad pale forehead Under a cloudy blossoming of hair! Sit down beside me here--these are too old, And have forgotten they were ever young. MARY. O, you are the great door-post of this house, And I the branch of blessed quicken wood, And if I could I'd hang upon the post, Till I had brought good luck into the house. (She would put her arms about him, but looks shyly at the priest and lets her arms fall.) FATHER HART. My daughter, take his hand--by love alone God binds us to Himself and to the hearth, That shuts us from the waste beyond His peace From maddening freedom and bewildering light. SHAWN. Would that the world were mine to give it you, And not its quiet hearths alone, but even All that bewilderment of light and freedom. If you would have it. MARY. I would take the world And break it into pieces in my hands To see you smile watching it crumble away. SHAWN. 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. MARY/ Your looks are all the candles that I need. SHAWN. 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; the sun and moon Must fade and heaven be rolled up like a scroll But your white spirit still walk by my spirit. (A Voice singing in the wood.) MAURTEEN. There's some one singing. Why, it's but a child. It sang, "The lonely of heart is withered away." A strange song for a child, but she sings sweetly. Listen, Listen! (Goes to door.) MARY. O, cling close to me, Because I have said wicked things to-night. THE VOICE. 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. Being happy, I would have all others happy, So I will bring her in out of the cold. (He brings in the faery child.) THE CHILD. I tire of winds and waters and pale lights. MAURTEEN. And that's no wonder, for when night has fallen The wood's a cold and a bewildering place, But you are welcome here. THE CHILD. I am welcome here. For when I tire of this warm little house There is one here that must away, away.