Red Rose, proud Rose, sad Rose of all my days! <br />Come near me, while I sing the ancient ways: <br />Cuchulain battling with the bitter tide; <br />The Druid, grey, wood-nurtured, quiet-eyed, <br />Who cast round Fergus dreams, and ruin untold; <br />And thine own sadness, where of stars, grown old <br />In dancing silver-sandalled on the sea, <br />Sing in their high and lonely melody. <br />Come near, that no more blinded hy man's fate, <br />I find under the boughs of love and hate, <br />In all poor foolish things that live a day, <br />Eternal beauty wandering on her way. <br />Come near, come near, come near -- Ah, leave me still <br />A little space for the rose-breath to fill! <br />Lest I no more bear common things that crave; <br />The weak worm hiding down in its small cave, <br />The field-mouse running by me in the grass, <br />And heavy mortal hopes that toil and pass; <br />But seek alone to hear the strange things said <br />By God to the bright hearts of those long dead, <br />And learn to chaunt a tongue men do not know. <br />Come near; I would, before my time to go, <br />Sing of old Eire and the ancient ways: <br />Red Rose, proud Rose, sad Rose of all my days.<br /><br />William Butler Yeats<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-the-rose-upon-the-rood-of-time/
