The Lover Tells Of The Rose In His Heart
All things uncomely and broken, all things worn out
The cry of a child by the roadway, the creak of a lum-
The heavy steps of the ploughman, splashing the
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
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.