Produced by Marjorie Fulton

The land of heart’s Desire
by
W. B. Yeats

1912

First Edition ............................ 1894
Second Edition (in “Poems” by W. B. Yeats) 1895
Third Edition        ,,          ,,        1899
Fourth Edition       ,,          ,,        1901
Fifth Edition        ,,          ,,        1904
Sixth Edition        ,,          ,,        1908
Seventh Edition (revised) ................ 1912

(All rights reserved.)

To
Florence Farr

The land of heart’s Desire

O Rose, thou art sick. 
William Blake

Maurteen Bruin
Bridget Bruin
Shawn Bruin
Mary Bruin
father hart
A faery child

The Scene is laid in the Barony of Kilmacowen, in the County of
Sligo, and at a remote time.

The land of heart’s Desire

Scene.—­A room with a hearth on the floor in the middle of a deep alcove to the Right.  There are benches in the alcove and a table; and a crucifix on the wall.  The alcove is full of a glow of light from the fire.  There is an open door facing the audience to the Left, and to the left of this a bench.  Through the door one can see the forest.  It is night, but the moon or a late sunset glimmers through the trees and carries the eye far off into a vague, mysterious World.

Maurteen Bruin, Shawn Bruin, and Bridget Bruin sit in the alcove at the table or about the fire.  They are dressed in the costume of some remote time, and near them sits an old priest, father hart.  He may be dressed as a friar.  There is food and drink upon the table.  Mary Bruin stands by the door reading a book.  If she looks up she can see through the door into the wood.

Bridget.  Because I bid her clean the pots for supper
She took that old book down out of the thatch;
She has been doubled over it ever since. 
We should be deafened by her groans and moans
Had she to work as some do, Father Hart;
Get up at dawn like me and mend and scour;
Or ride abroad in the boisterous night like you,
The pyx and blessed bread under your arm.

Shawn.  Mother, you are too cross.

Bridget.  You’ve married her,
And fear to vex her and so take her part.

Maurteen (to father hart)
It is but right that youth should side with youth
She quarrels with my wife a bit at times,
And is too deep just now in the old book
But do not blame her greatly; she will grow
As quiet as a puff-ball in a tree
When but the moons of marriage dawn and die
For half a score of times.

Father hart.  Their hearts are wild,
As be the hearts of birds, till children come.