| Far-off, most secret, and inviolate Rose, |
| Enfold me in my hour of hours; where those |
| Who sought thee
in the Holy Sepulchre, |
| Or in the wine-vat, dwell beyond the stir |
| And tumult of defeated dreams; and deep |
| Among pale eyelids, heavy with the sleep |
| Men have named beauty. Thy great leaves enfold |
| The ancient
beards, the helms of ruby and gold |
| Of the crowned Magi; and the king whose eyes |
| Saw the Pierced
Hands and Rood of elder rise |
| In Druid vapour and make the torches dim; |
| Till vain frenzy awoke and he
died; and him |
| Who met Fand walking among flaming dew |
| By a grey shore where the wind never blew, |
| And lost the world and Emer for a kiss; |
| And him who drove the gods out of their liss, |
| And till a hundred
morns had flowered red |
| Feasted, and wept the barrows of his dead; |
| And the proud dreaming king who
flung the crown |
| And sorrow away, and calling bard and clown |
| Dwelt among wine-stained wanderers in
deep woods; |
| And him who sold tillage, and house, and goods, |
| And sought through lands and islands
numberless years, |
| Until he found, with laughter and with tears, |
| A woman of so shining loveliness |
| That
men threshed corn at midnight by a tress, |
| A little stolen tress. I, too, await |
| The hour of thy great wind of
love and hate. |
| When shall the stars be blown about the sky, |
| Like the sparks blown out of a smithy, and
die? |
| Surely thine hour has come, thy great wind blows, |
| Far-off, most secret, and inviolate Rose? |
