To The Rose Upon The Rood Of Time
Red Rose, proud Rose, sad Rose of all my days!
e near me, while I sing the a 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 dang silver-sandalled on the sea,
Sing in their high and lonely melody.
e near, that no more blinded hy mans fate,
I find uhe boughs of love and hate,
In all poor foolish things that live a day,
Eternal beauty wandering on her way.
e near, e near, e near - Ah, leave me still
A little space for the rose-breath to fill!
Lest I no more bear on 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 aloo hear the strahings said
By God to the bright hearts of those long dead,
And learn to t a tongue men do not know.
e near; I would, before my time to go,
Sing of old Eire and the a ways:
Red Rose, proud Rose, sad Rose of all my days.