TO THE ROSE UPON THE ROOD OF TIME
by: William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)
- Red Rose, proud Rose, sad Rose of all my days!
- Come near me, while I sing the ancient ways:
- Cuchulain battling with the bitter tide;
- The Druid, grey, wood-nurtured, quiet eyed,
- Who cast round Fergus dreams, and ruin untold;
- And thine own sadness, whereof stars, grown old
- In dancing silver-sandalled on the sea,
- Sing in their high and lonely melody.
- Come near, that no more blinded by man's fate,
- I find under the boughs of love and hate,
- In all poor foolish things that live a day,
- Eternal beauty wandering on her way.
- Come near, come near, come near -- Ah, leave me still
- A little space for the rose-breath to fill!
- Lest I no more hear common things that crave;
- The weak worm hiding down in its small cave,
- The field-mouse running by me in the grass,
- And heavy mortal hopes that toil and pass;
- But seek alone to hear the strange things said
- By God to the bright hearts of those long dead,
- And learn to chaunt a tongue men do not know
- Come near; I would, before my time to go,
- Sing of old Eire and the ancient ways:
- Red Rose, proud Rose, sad Rose of all my days.
