I am older than Brigit of the Mantle,
I put songs and music on the wind
Before ever the bells of the chapels
Were rung in the West
Or heard in the East.
I am Brighid-nam-Bratta:
Brigit of the Mantle,
I am also Brighid-Muirghin-na-tuinne:
Brigit, Conception of the Waves,
Brigit of the Faery Host,
Brigit of the Slim Faery Folk,
Brigit the Melodious Mouthed
Of the Tribe of the Green Mantles.
And I am older than Aone (Friday)
And as old as Luan (Monday)
And in Tir-na-h’oige my name is
Suibhal: Mountain Traveler,
And in Tir-fo-thuinn, Country of the Waves,
It is Cu-gorm: Gray Hound,
And in Tir-na-h’oise,
Country of Ancient Years,
It is Sireadh-thall: Seek Beyond.
And I have been a breath in your heart,
And the day has its feet to it
That will see me coming
Into the hearts of men and women
Like a flame upon dry grass,
Like a flame of wind in a great wood.
Fiona MacLeod / William Sharp
For Yolanda: Red Ophelia
Red Ophelia's hands on paper--
Words inscribed in her own blood--
Has forgotten what is water,
Shy Gypsy in a crimson dress.
Brigid, mistress of the mantle,
Lend you fire, bring you joy--
Come visit me in the forest,
Green Ophelia of the Trees.
A dreamless sleep falls from the shimmering leaves. --Sappho fragment, tr. Andrew Bellon I changed, thickened, ...
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