Wind among the Reeds — 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. |
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| 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. |