Page:The Land of Heart's Desire, Yeats, 1894.djvu/33

Rh .

I tire of winds and waters and pale lights!

.

You are most welcome. It is cold out there;

Who'd think to face such cold on a May Eve.

.

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.

.

O listen to her dreamy and strange talk

Come to the fire.

.

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.