Rag and Bone Shop of the Heart

Those masterful images become complete
Grew in pure mind, but out of what began?
A mound of refuse or the sweeping of a street,
old kettles, old bottles, and a broken can,
old iron, old bones, old rags, that raving slut,
who keeps the till. Now that my ladder's gone,
I must lie down where all the ladders start,
In the foul rag and bone shop of the heart.

--William Butler Yeates