ALL things uncomely and broken, all things worn out and old, br The cry of a child by the roadway, the creak of a lumbering cart, br The heavy steps of the ploughman, splashing the wintry mould, br Are wronging your image that blossoms a rose in the deeps of my heart. br The wrong of unshapely things is a wrong too great to be told; br I hunger to build them anew and sit on a green knoll apart, br With the earth and the sky and the water, re-made, like a casket of gold br For my dreams of your image that blossoms a rose in the deeps of my heart.