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.
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Comments
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this rose,
I think he is trying to mainain a youthful image of a love that he had wronged, seeking forgivness for what he might have done. -
Yeats - you still the man!
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Nice
its a nice poem but the last line, I dont see any connection of the dreams with the broken and old stuff or with wind and winter.May be I am not reaching to the point!
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