Page:The Land of Heart's Desire, Yeats, 1894.djvu/50

42 .

Come, little bird with silver feet!

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Dead, dead!

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Thus do the evil spirits snatch their prey

Almost out of the very hand of God;

And day by day their power is more and more,

And men and women leave old paths, for pride

Comes knocking with thin knuckles on the heart.

A sings outside—

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,