Now waneth spring,1
While all birds sing,2
And the south wind blows3
The earliest rose4
To and fro5
By the doors we know,6
And the scented gale7
Fills every dale.8
Slow now are brooks running because of the weed,9
And the thrush hath no cunning to hide her at need,10
So swift as she flieth from hedgerow to tree,11
As one that toil trieth, and deedful must be.12
And O ! that at last,13
All sorrows past,14
This night I lay15
’Neath the oak-beams grey !16
O, to wake from sleep,17
To see dawn creep18
Through the fruitful grove19
Of the house that I love !20
O ! my feet to be treading the threshold once more,21
O’er which once went the leading of swords to the war
!22
O ! my feet in the garden’s edge under the sun,23
Where the seeding grass hardens for haysel begun
!24
Lo, lo ! the wind blows25
To the heart of the Rose,26
And the ship lies tied27
To the haven side !28
But O for the keel29
The sails to feel !30
And the rocky ness31
Growing less and less !32
As down the wind driveth and thrusts through the sea33
The sail-burg that striveth to turn and go free,34
But the lads at the tiller they hold her in hand,35
And the wind our well-willer drifts fierce to the land.36
We shall wend it yet,37
The highway wet ;38
For what is this39
That our bosoms kiss ?40
What lieth sweet41
Before our feet ?42
What token hath come43
To lead us home ?44
’Tis the Rose of the garden walled round from the croft45
Where the grey roof its warden steep riseth aloft,46
’Tis the Rose ’neath the oaken-beamed hall, where they bide47
The pledges unbroken, the hand of the bride.48