POUR wine and dance if manhood still have pride, <br />Bring roses if the rose be yet in bloom; <br />The cataract smokes upon the mountain side, <br />Our Father Rosicross is in his tomb. <br />Pull down the blinds, bring fiddle and clarionet <br />That there be no foot silent in the room <br />Nor mouth from kissing, nor from wine unwet; <br />Our Father Rosicross is in his tomb. <br />In vain, in pain; the cataract still cries; <br />The everlasting taper lights the gloom; <br />All wisdom shut into his onyx eyes, <br />Our Father Rosicross sleeps in his tomb.<br /><br />William Butler Yeats<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-mountain-tomb/
