Aubrey Thomas De Vere

Roisin Dubh; Or, the Bleeding Heart

O, WHO art thou with that queenly brow
    And uncrowned head?
And why is the vest that binds thy breast,
    O’er the heart, blood-red?
Like a rosebud in June was that spot at noon,
    A rosebud weak;
But it deepens and grows like a July rose:
    Death-pale thy cheek!

“The babes I fed at my foot lay dead;
    I saw them die:
In Ramah a blast went wailing past;
    It was Rachel’s cry.
But I stand sublime on the shores of Time,
    And I pour mine ode,
As Myriam sang to the cymbals’ clang,
    On the wind to God.

“Once more at my feasts my bards and priests
    Shall sit and eat:
And the Shepherd whose sheep are on every steep
    Shall bless my meat!
O, sweet, men say, is the song by day,
    And the feast by night;
But on poisons I thrive, and in death survive
    Through ghostly might.”