SHE was my love and the pulse of my heart; <br />Lovely she was as the flowers that start <br />Straight to the sun from the earth's tender breast, <br />Sweet as the wind blowing out of the west-- <br />Elana, Elana, my strong one, my white one, <br />Soft be the wind blowing over your rest! <br /> <br />She crept to my side <br />In the cold mist of morning. <br />'O wirra' she cried, <br />''Tis farewell now, mavourneen! <br />When the crescent moon hung <br />Like a scythe in the sky, <br />I heard in the silence <br />The Little Folks cry. <br /> <br />''Twas like a low sighing, <br />A sobbing, a singing; <br />It came from the west, <br />Where the low moon was swinging: <br />'Elana, Elana' <br />Was all of their crying. <br />Mavrone! I must go-- <br />To refuse them, I dare not. <br />Alone I must go; <br />They have called and they care not-- <br />Naught do they care that they call me apart <br />From the warmth and the light and the love of your heart. <br />Hark! How their singing <br />Comes winging, comes winging, <br />Through your close arms, beloved, <br />Straight to my heart!' <br /> <br />White grew her face as the thorn's tender bloom, <br />White as the mist from the valley of doom! <br />Swift was her going--her head on my breast <br />Drooped like a flower that winter has pressed-- <br />Elana, Elana! My strong one, my white one! <br />Empty the arms that your beauty had blessed.<br /><br />Isabel Ecclestone Mackay<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/fairy-singing/
