“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...."

mundi  

Here is the rest of the poem
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, re-made, like a
casket of gold
For my dreams of your image that blossoms a rose in the
deeps of my heart.