Explore "Aedh Tells of the Rose in his Heart" by W.B. Yeats on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
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.