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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Comments
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This is my favourite Yeats' poem. Beautiful love poem: the most honest and tender description of those first feelings when love has just started to blossom. Yet desperate, for what is inside us can never truly correspond to what is outside us:
The wrong of unshapely things
Is a wrong too great to be told;
I hunger to build them anew
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Love it!
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