Our Father Rosy-Cross
Mike Scott, William Butler Yeats
Pour wine, and dance with wisdom and his bride
Bring roses if the rose be yet in bloom
A tall flame rises on the mountain side
Our Father Rosycross is in his tomb
Rip down the blinds, bring fiddle, bring clarionet
Let there be no foot silent in the room
nor mouth, from kissing or from wine unwet
Our Father Royicross is in his tomb
In vain, in vain the beacon flame still cries
An everlasting taper lights the gloom
All wisdom locked and hid behind his eyes,
Our Father Rosycross sleeps in his tomb
Our Father Rosycross sleeps in his tomb
Our Father Rosycross sleeps in his tomb
Our Father Rosycross sleeps in his tomb
