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Too long a sacrifice can make a stone of the heart
O when may it suffice?
That is Heaven’s part, our part
To murmur name upon name,
As a mother names her child
When sleep at last has come on limbs that had run wild.

What is it but nightfall?
No, no, not night but death,
Was it needless death after all?
For England may keep faith
For all that is done and said.

We know their dream enough to know they dreamed and are dead,
And what of excess of love
Bewildered them till they died?
I write it out in a verse
MacDonagh and MacBride and Connoly and Pearse
Now and in time to be, wherever green is worn, are changed, changed utterly
A terrible beauty is born

Oh...
Oh...

Now and in time to be, wherever green is worn, are changed, changed utterly
A terrible beauty is born

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