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...
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Heart, we will forget him!
You an I, tonight!
You may forget the warmth he gave,
I will forget the light.When you have done, pray tell me
That I my thoughts may dim;
Haste! lest while you're lagging.
I may remember him! -
Proud of my broken heart since thou didst break it,
Proud of the pain I did not feel till thee,
Proud of my night since thou with moons dost slake it,
Not to partake thy passion, my humility.