silence in the great spaces of the night.

Suddenly the bells of the cathedral in the marshes broke out,
calling to evensong.

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. But from the deep and perilous
places, edged with bright mosses, the Wild Things came leaping up to
dance on the reflection of the stars, and over their heads as they
danced the marsh-lights rose and fell.

The Wild Things are somewhat human in appearance, only all brown
of skin and barely two feet high. Their ears are pointed like the
squirrel's, only far larger, and they leap to prodigious heights.
They live all day under deep pools in the loneliest marshes, but at
night they come up and dance. Each Wild Thing has over its head a
marsh-light, which moves as the Wild Thing moves; they have no
souls, and cannot die, and are of the kith of the Elf-folk.

All night they dance over the marshes, treading upon the reflection
of the stars (for the bare surface of the water will not hold them
by itself); but when the stars begin to pale, they sink down one by
one into the pools of their home. Or if they tarry longer, sitting
upon the rushes, their bodies fade from view as the marsh-fires pale
in the light, and by daylight none may see the Wild Things of the