Sunday, April 28, 2019

The Rose of the World



Let Freedom Ring



Who dreamed that beauty passes like a dream?


For these red lips, with all their mournful pride,


Mournful that no new wonder may betide,


Troy passed away in one high funeral gleam,


And Usna’s children died.


We and labouring world are passing by:


Amid men’s souls, that waver and give place


Like the pale waters in their wintry race,


Under the passing stars, foam of the sky,


Lives on this lonely face.


Bow down, archangels, in your dim abode:


Before you were, or any hearts to beat,


Weary and kind one lingered by His seat;


He made the world to be a grassy road


Before her wondering feet.


                             

                                   William Butler Yates 1865-1939


 

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