Verse > W.B. Yeats > The Wind Among the Reeds
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W.B. Yeats (1865–1939).  The Wind Among the Reeds.  1899.

29. The Secret Rose


FAR off, most secret, and inviolate Rose, 
Enfold me in my hour of hours; where those 
Who sought thee in the Holy Sepulchre, 
Or in the wine vat, dwell beyond the stir 
And tumult of defeated dreams; and deep         5
Among pale eyelids, heavy with the sleep 
Men have named beauty. Thy great leaves enfold 
The ancient beards, the helms of ruby and gold 
Of the crowned Magi; and the king whose eyes 
Saw the Pierced Hands and Rood of elder rise  10
In druid vapour and make the torches dim; 
Till vain frenzy awoke and he died; and him 
Who met Fand walking among flaming dew 
By a gray shore where the wind never blew, 
And lost the world and Emer for a kiss;  15
And him who drove the gods out of their liss, 
And till a hundred morns had flowered red, 
Feasted and wept the barrows of his dead; 
And the proud dreaming king who flung the crown 
And sorrow away, and calling bard and clown  20
Dwelt among wine-stained wanderers in deep woods; 
And him who sold tillage, and house, and goods, 
And sought through lands and islands numberless years, 
Until he found with laughter and with tears, 
A woman, of so shining loveliness,  25
That men threshed corn at midnight by a tress, 
A little stolen tress. I, too, await 
The hour of thy great wind of love and hate. 
When shall the stars be blown about the sky, 
Like the sparks blown out of a smithy, and die?  30
Surely thine hour has come, thy great wind blows, 
Far off, most secret, and inviolate Rose? 


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