William Butler Yeats
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's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (The Lover Tells Of The Rose In His Heart by William Butler Yeats )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
Did you read them?
- Guiding Through Turmoil, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
- Cosmic luvgasmacomastoned! ! ! ! ! ! ! !.., Monk E. Biz
- Love, love, love, gajanan mishra
- Tunnels Of Existence, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
- Missing An Award Ceremony, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
- Weeping Under The Rain, Tony Adah
- EVEN More Cosmic Than That~~~, Monk E. Biz
- No Place Nation, Xavier Cole
- Dream Another Dream, Xavier Cole
- CITY OF LOVE 10 WORD, Beryl Dov