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    Rosa Alchemica
    Rosa Alchemica
    Rosa Alchemica
    Ebook48 pages38 minutes

    Rosa Alchemica

    By W. B. (William Butler) Yeats

    ()

    Read preview
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateJan 1, 2004
    Rosa Alchemica

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      Book preview

      Rosa Alchemica - W. B. (William Butler) Yeats

      The Project Gutenberg EBook of Rosa Alchemica, by W. B. Yeats

      This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

      almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or

      re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included

      with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org

      Title: Rosa Alchemica

      Author: W. B. Yeats

      Release Date: May, 2004 [EBook #5794]

      This file was first posted on September 1, 2002

      Last Updated: July 3, 2013

      Language: English

      *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROSA ALCHEMICA ***

      Text file produced by Charles Franks and the Online Distributed

      Proofreading Team

      HTML file produced by David Widger

      ROSA ALCHEMICA

      By W.B. Yeats

      O blessed and happy he, who knowing the mysteries of the gods, sanctifies his life, and purifies his soul, celebrating orgies in the mountains with holy purifications.—Euripides.

      CONTENTS

      ROSA ALCHEMICA.

      I

      II

      III

      IV

      ROSA ALCHEMICA.

      I

      It is now more than ten years since I met, for the last time, Michael Robartes, and for the first time and the last time his friends and fellow students; and witnessed his and their tragic end, and endured those strange experiences, which have changed me so that my writings have grown less popular and less intelligible, and driven me almost to the verge of taking the habit of St. Dominic. I had just published Rosa Alchemica, a little work on the Alchemists, somewhat in the manner of Sir Thomas Browne, and had received many letters from believers in the arcane sciences, upbraiding what they called my timidity, for they could not believe so evident sympathy but the sympathy of the artist, which is half pity, for everything which has moved men's hearts in any age. I had discovered, early in my researches, that their doctrine was no merely chemical phantasy, but a philosophy they applied to the world, to the elements and to man himself; and that they sought to fashion gold out of common metals merely as part of an universal transmutation of all things into some divine and imperishable substance; and this enabled me to make my little book a fanciful reverie over the transmutation of life into art, and a cry of measureless desire for a world made wholly of essences.

      I was sitting dreaming of what I had written, in my house in one of the old parts of Dublin; a house my ancestors had made almost famous through their part in the politics of the city and their friendships with the famous men of their generations; and was feeling an unwonted happiness at having at last accomplished a long-cherished design, and made my rooms an expression of this favourite doctrine. The portraits, of more historical than artistic interest, had gone; and tapestry, full of the blue and bronze of peacocks, fell over the doors, and shut out all history and activity untouched with beauty and peace; and now when I looked at my Crevelli and pondered on the rose in the hand of the Virgin, wherein the form was so delicate and precise that it seemed more like a thought than a flower, or at the grey dawn and rapturous faces of my Francesca, I knew all a Christian's ecstasy without his

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