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 lum-
 bering 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.