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| By AE (George William Russell 1867-1935 |
First he was her mentor and her spiritual guide. Then he was her dear friend. Then she left him when she left Ireland.
Ella Young's words and AE's images...
More of Ella Young's mystical poetry and her retelling of old Irish tales are available in the anthology I co-edited with John Matthews and published by Skylight Press.
CLEENA
Pale, in the twilight, the crested waves are falling
On a lone shore where never a sea-bird strays;
Softly the twilight wind is calling, calling,
Calling for Cleena of the olden days.
Once a thousand lovers sang her praises,
Wove her name in chant and storied rann;
Cleena, for whose sake the sea-god raises,
Wave on wave, his crested foam-white clan.
Gods and heroes once the battle-gear uplifted
All for Cleena of the curling, golden head;
O’er her beauty now the dust has drifted,
The songs are silent, and her lovers dead.
Only where waves in shadowy foam are falling,
Falling, falling ever, with a sound of tears,
Earth and sea a vanished joy recalling
Mourn for Cleena and the long-forgotten years.
Mournful wind, your grief cannot avail her.
Sea-foam drifting, drifting through the night–
She has peace and silence, why bewail her?
Cleena! Cleena! Dead, forgotten quite!
- Ella Young from Poems (1906)
