<back>

The Rose in the Deeps of His Heart
William Butler Yeats
line

    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.