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 plowman, splashing the wintry mold, Are wronging your image that blossoms a rose in the deeps of my heart.

The Wind Among the Reeds [1899]. The Lover Tells of the Rose in His Heart, st. 1

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