Abstract
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, whereof 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.
’sero te amavi, Pulchritudo tam antiqua et tam nova! Sero te amavi.’ — S. Augustine
This is a preview of subscription content, log in via an institution to check access.
Access this chapter
Tax calculation will be finalised at checkout
Purchases are for personal use only
Preview
Unable to display preview. Download preview PDF.
Editor information
Copyright information
© 1989 Palgrave Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited
About this chapter
Cite this chapter
Johnson, L. (1989). The Rose. In: Jeffares, A.N. (eds) Yeats’s Poems. Palgrave Macmillan, London. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-1-349-20284-3_3
Download citation
DOI: https://doi.org/10.1007/978-1-349-20284-3_3
Publisher Name: Palgrave Macmillan, London
Print ISBN: 978-0-333-51061-2
Online ISBN: 978-1-349-20284-3
eBook Packages: Palgrave Literature & Performing Arts CollectionLiterature, Cultural and Media Studies (R0)