The wind blows over the lonely of heart,
And the lonely of heart is withered away.
A story told in the middle of the night.
On a faraway land, in a remote time, a couple of newlyweds shared a house with the young man's
On May Eve, a priest came to visit.
Dinner was served. Wine was poured. The woods were near.
Discussions begun. Discussions over the bride's detachment towards that piece of world they lived in.
The priest stood up. A tragic preaching was kindly given.
...I have seen some other girlsRestless and ill at ease, but years went byAnd they grew like their neighbours and were gladIn minding children, working at the churn,And gossiping of weddings and of wakes;For life moves out of a red flare of dreamsInto a common light of common hours,Until old age bring the red flare again.
There is no place for a bride that rejects Fate and Time and Change.
One word and the household's fury is unleashed.
She is not a fitting wife for any man.
The young husband tried to calm what could never be calm.
Words were hastily chosen to soothe what could never...
Would that the world were mine to give it you,And not its quiet hearths alone, but evenAll that bewilderment of light and freedom.If you would have it.
On May Eve, an immortal child in ethereal clothes came into the house with an enticing proposal.
A relentless melody about the burdens of life.
The ephemeral nature of our existence.
The land of heart's desire.
Where beauty has no ebb, decay no flood,But joy is wisdom, Time an endless song.I kiss you and the world begins to fade.
Now, they are all wondering if the world will ever be enough.