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Wednesday, January 25, 2012

Bleak House



The Lover Tells Of The Rose In His Heart

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.

--William Butler Yeats


3 comments:

H. Gillham said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
H. Gillham said...

There is never anything wrong with the poetry of William Butler Yeats: "The wrong of unshapely things is a wrong too great to be told;/I hunger to build them anew..."

*sigh*

Some Dumb Lawyer said...

Given the choice, I'd rather be young, rich, and good-looking.

But I'm pretty shallow.