The Lover tells of the Rose in his heart

POSTED IN essays April 28, 2012

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
         
   

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, re-made, like a casket of gold
For my dreams of your image that blossoms a rose in the deeps of my heart. 

 

by William Butler Yeats

   
         

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