To the rose in the night

 

The rose came in the night and sang

of blackbirds and a bloody dawn

and waves that rose and drowned the sun

that swallowed sky and rained upon

a land of sadness full of tears.

Thousands more, too many times

the tides have ebbed and flowed again,

and still they come and still they die;

how many more before weโ€™re done?

Through the mist a song is sung;

a thrush weeps where the rose is hung.

 

Poem inspired by a night of pain again, the Yeats poem, To the rose upon the rood of time, and the words to this song:

Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

8 thoughts on “To the rose in the night”

  1. I’m sorry you had another painful night. Sad, but lovely imagery in your poem–and well inspired.
    Coincidentally (or not) ๐Ÿ˜‰ , yesterday I was looking back at the poems I wrote for your Yeats challenge.

    1. Thank you. Yes, big disappointment. I thought I was on the mend but the painkiller had no effect whatsoever second time around ๐Ÿ˜ฆ
      Ah, nothing is ever coincidental when it comes to what either of us was thinking poetrywise ๐Ÿ™‚
      I had decided to another poetry challenge but I’m not sure if there would be much interest. Kerfe isn’t around at the moment either. I’ll maybe wait until she’s back.

      1. I hope you feel better soon. I think we discussed this before, but do you have something like IcyHot that you can rub on your back? Or one of those patches you can apply when you go to bed? Yes, good idea waiting for Kerfe–three witches are probably necessary to make it work. ๐Ÿ˜‰

      2. Thanks ๐Ÿ™‚ I have something to massage in, and that coupled with a pain killer kept the pain away the time to get to sleep, but last night I just didn’t get off to sleep and by 1:30am the effects had worn off and the pain was back.
        The three witches are all we need really ๐Ÿ™‚

  2. I like the Pogues. And the Yeats poem is gorgeous. More so do I like your words, because they are now–today–and real. And what is the rose: blood, the land, loyalty?

    Personally, the rose is pain. And I’m so sorry you’re experiencing that. Sorry that none of the remedies is working well. I can only hope there is improvement–soon.

    1. Thank you. Yeats wrote such rich, lush poetry. Sometimes the symbolism is a bit much for modern tastes, but I find it touching that the man always comes through the poetic language.
      Yes, the rose represents all those things, some of them unattainable, and yes, there is pain too, but it will go eventually. It’s just a muscle, it will heal.
      The Pogues wrote some great music. I love the lyrics to this song. It has a blackbird’s sweet song in it.

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