Chapter 2 TO THE SECRET ROSE

Far off, most secret, and inviolate Rose, Enfold me in my hour of hours; where those Who sought thee at the Holy Sepulchre, Or in the wine?vat, dwell beyond the stir And tumult of defeated dreams; heavy with the sleep Men have named beauty. Your 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 In druid vapor 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 Emir for a kiss; 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 Dwelt among wine?stained wanderers in deep woods; and house and goods, And sought through lands and islands number rless years Until he found with laughter and with tears A woman of so shining loveliness That men thresshed corn at midnight by a tress, A little stolen stress. 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? Surely thine hour has come, thy great wind blows, Far off, most secret, and inviolate Rose?