To Caitílín ní huallacháin
The little black rose shall be red at last
Because we share our sorrows and our joysAnd all your dear and intimate thoughts are mineWe shall not fear the trumpets and the noiseOf battle, for we know our dreams divine,And when my heart is pillowed on your heartAnd ebb and flowing of their passionate floodShall beat in concord love through every partOf brain and body—when at last the bloodO'er leaps the final barrier to findOnly one source wherein to spend its strength
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