Tip:
Highlight text to annotate it
X
Solemn and cold over the marshes arose the evening.
It became very still.
As the light faded and the haze deepened,
mystery crept nearer from every side.
Then the stars appeared and shone in the stillness,
and there was silence in the great spaces of the night.
...The autumn twilight, and the shining light of the stars
I live under deep pools in the loneliest marshes
All night I dance over the marshes
treading upon the reflection of the stars
I have no soul, and cannot die
I hope submerged, the eternity
Eight centuries ago on the edge of the marsh
men had built the huge cathedral,
or it may have been seven centuries ago, or perhaps nine...
it was all one to the Wild Things.
So evensong was held, and candles lighted,
and the lights through the windows shone red and green in the water,
and the sound of the organ went roaring over the marshes.
I saw through the painted windows to where the people prayed,
I danced upon the images of the coloured saints
as they lay in the water among the reflection of the stars.
Stars seemed to be not enough,
nor the soft grey ooze and the deep water
nor even the dance of the Wild Things
Only I long to have a soul
Then something akin to discontent troubled the Wild Thing
for the first time since the making of the marshes.
The little Wild Thing longed to have a soul, and to go and worship God.
And when evensong was over and the lights were out,
it went back crying to its kith.
I cannot sorrow long,
having no souls to sorrow with,
yet I poured my tears in the dew
I want to have a soul to worship God,
and to know the meaning of music,
and to see the inner beauty of the marshlands,
even though I have to die
Listen kith of the Elf-folk, please make a soul
with the light of dawn and last rays of sun
if I got a soul, one day you would have to die,
and if I knew the meaning of music you would learn the meaning of sorrow
I want to have a soul to worship God,
and to know the meaning of music,
and to see the inner beauty of the marshlands,
even though I have to die
Listen kith of the Elf-folk, please make a soul
with the light of dawn and last rays of sun
The kith of the Elf-folk went abroad by night to make a soul for the little Wild Thing.
They gathered a large piece of gossamer that the spider had laid by twilight;
and the dew was on it.
Into this dew had shone all the lights of the long banks of the ribbed sky,
as all the colours changed in the restful spaces of evening.
In the edge of their home they gathered a piece of the grey mist
that lies by night over the marshlands.
And they put into it, too, the mournful song
that the reeds are compelled to sing before the presence of the arrogant North Wind.
And to all this they added a few images of the stars that they gathered out of the water.
Still the soul that the kith of the Elf-folk were making had no life.
Then they put into it the low voices of two lovers that went walking in the night,
wandering late alone. Then the soul lived.
A spider appeared when darkness came tinged with blue
the web spun to entrap their prey
the Wild Things put into the piece of haze
and wrapped it all up in their dew-bespangled gossamer
And the frost shone with the colours
of the evening and the stars of the night.
And they said to me, place this to your left breast a little above the heart,
and it will enter and you will become a human.
But if you take it you can never be rid of it
to become immortal again unless you pluck it out and give it to another;
And if you cannot find a human without
a soul you will one day die,
and your soul cannot go to Paradise,
because it was only made in the marshes.
And they said to me, place this to your left breast a little above the heart,
and it will enter and you will become a human.
So I bid farewell with tears and thanks
to the Wild Things of the kith of Elf-folk
I saw the cathedral windows alight for evensong,
and the song of the people mounting up to Paradise,
I gazed for over the water to where the marsh-fires
were leaping up and down, and then pressed the soul against my heart.
Instantly I became a woman, beautiful like an angel
I was cold and frightened and my soul was born
I clad myself somehow with bundles of reeds,
and went leaping away towards the green dry land
I perceived the mystery of its distances, the fair and deadly mosses,
and felt the marvel of the North Wind who comes out of icy lands,
where perhaps God was now imagining a sunrise
while angels played low on lutes,
Instantly I became a woman, beautiful like an angel
I was cold and frightened and my soul was born
beautiful like an angel...
I understand you were lost the other night in the marshes.
It was a terrible night to be lost in the marshes.
I love the marshes
Indeed! How old are you?
I don't know.
You must know about how old you are
Oh, about ninety
Ninety years!
No, ninety centuries, I am as old as the marshes.
I am a Wild Thing, kin to the Elf-folk.
I had longed to be a human and go and worship God,
and have a soul and see the beauty of the world,
the Wild Things have done to me a soul of gossamer
and mist and music and strange memories.
But if this is true, this is very wrong.
God cannot have intended you to have a soul.
What is your name?'
I have no name
We must find a Christian name and a surname for you.
What would you like to be called?
Song of the Rushes
That won't do at all
Then I would like to be called Terrible North Wind, or Star in the Waters
No, no, no, that is quite impossible. We could call you Miss Rush if you like.
How would Mary Rush do? Perhaps you had better have another name--say Mary Jane Rush.
And we must find something for you to do in the city.
You go to work in the cloth factory
I don't want to do anything, I want to worship God in the cathedral
and live beside the marshes.
All here was ugly; even the green wool
was neither the green of the grass,
but a sorry muddy green that befitted
a sullen city under a murky sky.
And the days multiplied themselves by seven and became weeks,
and the weeks passed by, and all days were the same.
I was sent away to a great manufacturing city,
where I worked in a cloth factory
While the birds fly high
and go for the sea ...
I'm here, locked up and imprisoned
where I worked in a cloth factory
While the birds fly high
and go for the sea ....
One day I decided that it was better to be a wild thing,
than to have a soul that cried for beautiful things and found not one.
From that day she determined to be rid of her soul,
so I told her story to one of the factory girls, and said to her:
'The other girls are poorly clad and they do soulless work;
surely some of them have no souls and would take mine.'
But the factory girl said to me: 'All the poor have souls.
It is all they have.'
all the while my soul was crying for beautiful things,
and found not one, there is nothing here for me.
There was nothing in that town that was good for a soul to see.
At six o'clock the factory uttered a prolonged howl
and into the dark till the bells tolled six again.
One day at the hour when the machines rested
and the human beings that tended them rested too,
the wind being at that time from the direction of the marshlands,
the soul of Mary Jane lamented bitterly.
Then, as she stood outside the factory gates,
the soul irresistibly compelled her to sing
I worked where giants sat pounding wool
into a long thread-like strip with iron,
rasping hands. And all day, a soulless work.
men seem blind, the nights are lonely
Where is my freedom?
When I looked out over the roofs of the town,
there too was ugliness; all the time
I sighed and looked at the stars
men seem blind, the nights are lonely
Where is my freedom?
smoke in the city, streets dead
Where is my freedom?
and I sang of tales that the rushes
murmured to one another,
tales that the teal knew and the watchful heron.
And over the crowded streets my song went crying away,
the song of waste places
and of wild free lands, full of wonder and magic.
A wild song came from her lips, hymning the marshlands.
And into her song came crying her yearning for home,
and for the sound of the shout of the North Wind.
At this moment a well-known English tenor, happened to go by with a friend.
They stopped and listened; everyone stopped and listened.
So a change came into the life of Mary Jane.
People were written to, and finally it was arranged that
she should take a leading part in the Covent Garden Opera.
nobody could see me even at night unless they were born,
in the hour of dusk, just at the moment when the first star appears.
before I came here, I was an immortal creature
a wild thing
But one night my curiosity betrayed me.
I left my village and came here.
to worship your god
I wanted to feel the secrets of the mortal and to dream
In my heart there is love, there is pain in my soul
but I am not free... yes, I want to go home
and plunge into the marshes
And a strange chill went into the blood of all that listened
but someone was not listening my song
Mary Jane rushed from the stage; she appeared again running among the audience,
and dashed up to Lady Birmingham, the only person who seemed to feel indifferent
after the end of this fabulous music.
And I clutched at my left breast a little above the heart,
and there was the soul shining in my hand.
Mary Jane was the soul shining in her hand, with the green and blue lights
going round and round and the purple flare in the midst.
Take my soul, it is a beautiful soul.
And if you go to the marshlands with it you will see beautiful things;
Take my soul, it is a beautiful soul.
It can worship God, and knows the meaning of music
Take it and you will love all that is beautiful,
and know the four winds, each one by his name,
and the songs of the birds at dawn. I do not want it,
because I am not free. Put it to your left breast a little above the heart.
Still everybody was standing up, and Lady Birmingham felt uncomfortable.
Then she put the soul to her left breast a little above the heart,
and hoped that the people would sit down and the singer go away.
Instantly a heap of clothes collapsed before her.
For a moment, in the shadow among the seats,
those who were born in the dusk hour might have seen
a little brown thing leaping free from the clothes,
then it sprang into the bright light of the hall,
became invisible to any human eye.
the wild thing back again to the mysterious marshes
to dance over the reflection of stars
And there was a great rejoicing all that night among the kith of the Elf-folk.
treading upon the reflection of the stars
We'll dance until dawn ...
treading upon the reflection of the stars
We'll dance until dawn ...
treading upon the reflection of the stars
We'll dance until dawn ...
treading upon the reflection of the stars
We'll dance until dawn ...