She clad herself somehow with bundles of reeds And went towards the lights of a cathedral That stood close by And she pushed open the door and entered And found the Dean 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, or more. Ninety years! No, ninety centuries, I am as old as the marshes I am a Wild Thing, of the kith of the Elf-folk I longed to be a human and go and worship God Have a soul and see the beauty of the world The Wild Things made me a soul of gossamer Mist, 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