130. Roisin Dubh

O WHO are 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 rose-bud in June that spot at noon,

A rose-bud 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 Miriam 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;

Oh, sweet, men say, is the song by day,

And the feast by night;

But on poisons I thrive, and in death survive

Through ghostly night.”