You have thrown your arms about a drift of leaves
Or bole of an ash-tree changed into her image.
FATHER HART.
Thus do the spirits of evil 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 VOICE [singing outside].
The wind blows out of the gates of the day,