Windows for walls, thoughts that have turned
Back into folk, gateways of horn,
And the wild hearts that men have burned,
These things I see. And ay, one morn
I saw the little people bear
Away my little child new-born.
They gave her food yielded in air,
Honey and rose-down.
I looked and she was very fair.
So when the people of the town
(Who did not know) believed her dead
And wrapped her in a cloudy gown
I did not mourn. I only said:
“She is the daughter of the Day
And with the Night she has been wed.
“I am the mother of that one
Born for two worlds. And I am she
Who sees more things than moon and sun
And little stars will ever see.”
Old Eyelot sees what never is.
She says: “Green lights move on the leas,
Deep in the air are treasuries.”
I wonder what old Eyelot sees?
II: Magic
An ancient wildwood showed its heart to me.
(O Little Wind that brought me what it said!)
I went within its great nave reverently.