SHE was my love and the pulse of my heart; Lovely she was as the flowers that start Straight to the sun from the earth's tender breast, Sweet as the wind blowing out of the west— Elana, Elana, my strong one, my white one, Soft be the wind blowing over your rest! @3She crept to my side In the cold mist of morning. "O wirra" she cried, "'Tis farewell now, mavourneen! When the crescent moon hung Like a scythe in the sky, I heard in the silence The Little Folks cry. "'Twas like a low sighing, A sobbing, a singing; It came from the west, Where the low moon was swinging: 'Elana, Elana' Was all of their crying. Mavrone! I must go— To refuse them, I dare not. Alone I must go; They have called and they care not— Naught do they care that they call me apart From the warmth and the light and the love of your heart. Hark! How their singing Comes winging, comes winging, Through your close arms, beloved, Straight to my heart!"@1 White grew her face as the thorn's tender bloom, White as the mist from the valley of doom! Swift was her going—her head on my breast Drooped like a flower that winter has pressed— Elana, Elana! My strong one, my white one! Empty the arms that your beauty had blessed. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LONELY BURIAL by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET NORTH WINTER by HAYDEN CARRUTH EVENTIDE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON |