To the Rose upon the Rood of Time
‘Sero te amavi, Pulchritudo tam antiqua et tam nova!
Sero te amavi.’—S. Augustine
| 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. |
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