Aedh tells of the Rose in his Heart by William Butler Yeats 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, remade, like a casket of gold   For my dreams of your image that blossoms a rose in the deeps of my heart.