William Butler Yeats - The Travail of Pa**ion lyrics

When the flaming lute-thronged angelic door is wide; When an immortal pa**ion breathes in mortal clay; Our hearts endure the scourge, the plaited thorns, the way Crowded with bitter faces, the wounds in palm and side, The hyssop-heavy sponge, the flowers by Kidron stream: We will bend down and loosen our hair over you, That it may drop faint perfume, and be heavy with dew, Lilies of d**h-pale hope, roses of pa**ionate dream.