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William Butler Yeats - The Rose In The Deeps Of His HeartWilliam Butler Yeats - The Rose In The Deeps Of His Heart
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All things uncomely and broken, All things worn-out and old, The cry of a child by the roadway, The creak of a lumbering cart, The heavy steps of the ploughman, splashing the wintry mould, Are wronging your image that blossoms A rose in the deeps of my heart. The wrong of unshapely things Is a wrong too great to be told; I hunger to build them anew And sit on a green knoll apart, With the earth and the sky and the water, Remade, like a casket of gold For my dreams of your image that blossoms A rose in the deeps of my heart.
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