O WHO are thou with that queenly brow <br />And uncrowned head? <br />And why is the vest that binds thy breast, <br />O’er the heart, blood-red? <br />Like a rose-bud in June that spot at noon, <br />A rose-bud weak; <br />But it deepens and grows like a July rose: <br />Death-pale thy cheek. <br /> <br />“The babes I fed at my foot lay dead; <br />I saw them die; <br />In Ramah a blast went wailing past; <br />It was Rachel’s cry. <br />But I stand sublime on the shores of Time, <br />And I pour mine ode, <br />As Miriam sang to the cymbals’ clang, <br />On the wind to God. <br /> <br />“Once more at my feasts my bards and priests <br />Shall sit and eat: <br />And the Shepherd whose sheep are on every steep <br />Shall bless my meat; <br />Oh, sweet, men say, is the song by day, <br />And the feast by night; <br />But on poisons I thrive, and in death survive <br />Through ghostly night.”<br /><br />Aubrey Thomas de Vere<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/roisin-dubh/
