A secret rose
On Andalusian moss
How warm your winds that greet us
A secret rose
Born of Dartmoor’s frost
How strong the words which beat us
Oh such and such a secret rose
Worn with moss, and hoarse with frost
Carried on the old cold winds to defeat us
Oh much of a muchness of a secret rose
Sworn upon by God, and all others
To first unsettle us, then to unseat us
