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, where of 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