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