THE ROSE
 
 TO THE ROSE UPON THE ROOD OF TIME
 
 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, where of stars, grown old
 In dancing silver-sandalled on the sea,
 Sing in their high and lonely melody.
 Come near, that no more blinded hy 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 bear 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.