Title: Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
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Author: Edited by Robert Bridges
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Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
Edited by Robert Bridges
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Table of Contents
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins....................................................................................................................1
Edited by Robert Bridges .........................................................................................................................1
Early Poems..........................................................................................................................................................2
For a Picture of St. Dorothea...................................................................................................................2
HeavenHaven ........................................................................................................................................3
The Habit of Perfection ............................................................................................................................3
Poems 18761889 .................................................................................................................................................4
The Wreck of the Deutschland ...............................................................................................................4
Penmaen Pool .......................................................................................................................................12
The Silver Jubilee: ................................................................................................................................13
God's Grandeur......................................................................................................................................14
The Starlight Night................................................................................................................................14
Spring .....................................................................................................................................................15
The Lantern out of Doors .......................................................................................................................15
The Sea and the Skylark........................................................................................................................15
The Windhover: ....................................................................................................................................16
Pied Beauty............................................................................................................................................16
Hurrahing in Harvest ..............................................................................................................................17
The Caged Skylark .................................................................................................................................17
In the Valley of the Elwy .......................................................................................................................18
The Loss of the Eurydice ......................................................................................................................18
The May Magnificat..............................................................................................................................22
Binsey Poplars ......................................................................................................................................23
Duns Scotus's Oxford .............................................................................................................................24
Henry Purcell.........................................................................................................................................24
Peace......................................................................................................................................................25
The Bugler's First Communion ..............................................................................................................25
Morning Midday and Evening Sacrifice ................................................................................................27
Andromeda .............................................................................................................................................27
The Candle Indoors ................................................................................................................................28
The Handsome Heart: ...........................................................................................................................28
At the Wedding March ...........................................................................................................................29
Felix Randal ...........................................................................................................................................29
Brothers ..................................................................................................................................................30
Spring and Fall: .....................................................................................................................................31
Spelt from Sibyl's Leaves......................................................................................................................31
Inversnaid ...............................................................................................................................................32
AS kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies dráw fláme;...............................................................................32
Ribblesdale .............................................................................................................................................33
The Leaden Echo and the Golden Echo ................................................................................................33
The Blessed Virgin compared to the Air we Breathe............................................................................35
To what serves Mortal Beauty?.............................................................................................................37
(The Soldier)..........................................................................................................................................38
(Carrion Comfort)..................................................................................................................................38
NO worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief,.............................................................................39
Tom's Garland: ......................................................................................................................................39
Harry Ploughman ...................................................................................................................................40
TO seem the stranger lies my lot, my life ..............................................................................................40
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
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Table of Contents
I WAKE and feel the fell of dark, not day ............................................................................................41
PATIENCE, hard thing! the hard thing but to pray ...............................................................................41
MY own heart let me have more have pity on; let .................................................................................42
That Nature is a Heraclitean Fire and of the comfort of the Resurrection ............................................42
In honour of St. Alphonsus Rodriguez Laybrother of the Society of Jesus ..........................................43
THOU art indeed just, Lord, if I contend ...............................................................................................44
To R. B. ..................................................................................................................................................44
Unfinished Poems Fragments.............................................................................................................................45
Summa...................................................................................................................................................45
WHAT being in rankold nature should earlier have that breath been................................................45
On the Portrait of Two Beautiful Young People ..................................................................................45
THE sea took pity: it interposed with doom: .........................................................................................46
(Ashboughs) .........................................................................................................................................47
HOPE holds to Christ the mind's own mirror out .................................................................................48
St. Winefred's Well ............................................................................................................................................48
WHAT shall I do for the land that bred me,..........................................................................................51
THE times are nightfall, look, their light grows less.............................................................................52
Cheery Beggar.......................................................................................................................................52
DENIS, whose motionable, alert, most vaulting wit.............................................................................53
THE furl of freshleaved dogrose down...............................................................................................53
The Woodlark........................................................................................................................................54
Moonrise................................................................................................................................................55
REPEAT that, repeat ..............................................................................................................................55
On a piece of music ................................................................................................................................56
'THE child is father to the man.'............................................................................................................56
THE shepherd's brow, fronting forked lightning, owns .........................................................................56
To his Watch ..........................................................................................................................................57
STRIKE, churl; hurl, cheerless wind, then; heltering hail .....................................................................57
Epithalamion ..........................................................................................................................................57
THEE, God, I come from, to thee go .....................................................................................................59
TO him who ever thought with love of me ............................................................................................60
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
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Page No 4
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
Edited by Robert Bridges
Early Poems
For a Picture of St. Dorothea
HeavenHaven
The Habit of Perfection
Poems 18761889
The Wreck of the Deutschland
Penmaen Pool
The Silver Jubilee:
God's Grandeur
The Starlight Night
Spring
The Lantern out of Doors
The Sea and the Skylark
The Windhover:
Pied Beauty
Hurrahing in Harvest
The Caged Skylark
In the Valley of the Elwy
The Loss of the Eurydice
The May Magnificat
Binsey Poplars
Duns Scotus's Oxford
Henry Purcell
Peace
The Bugler's First Communion
Morning Midday and Evening Sacrifice
Andromeda
The Candle Indoors
The Handsome Heart:
At the Wedding March
Felix Randal
Brothers
Spring and Fall:
Spelt from Sibyl's Leaves
Inversnaid
AS kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies dráw fláme;
Ribblesdale
The Leaden Echo and the Golden Echo
The Blessed Virgin compared to the Air we Breathe
To what serves Mortal Beauty?
(The Soldier)
(Carrion Comfort)
NO worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief,
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins 1
Page No 5
Tom's Garland:
Harry Ploughman
TO seem the stranger lies my lot, my life
I WAKE and feel the fell of dark, not day
PATIENCE, hard thing! the hard thing but to pray
MY own heart let me have more have pity on; let
That Nature is a Heraclitean Fire and of the comfort of the Resurrection
In honour of St. Alphonsus Rodriguez Laybrother of the Society of Jesus
THOU art indeed just, Lord, if I contend
To R. B.
Unfinished Poems Fragments
Summa
WHAT being in rankold nature should earlier have that breath been
On the Portrait of Two Beautiful Young People
THE sea took pity: it interposed with doom:
(Ashboughs)
HOPE holds to Christ the mind's own mirror out
St. Winefred's Well
WHAT shall I do for the land that bred me,
THE times are nightfall, look, their light grows less
Cheery Beggar
DENIS, whose motionable, alert, most vaulting wit
THE furl of freshleaved dogrose down
The Woodlark
Moonrise
REPEAT that, repeat
On a piece of music
'THE child is father to the man.'
THE shepherd's brow, fronting forked lightning, owns
To his Watch
STRIKE, churl; hurl, cheerless wind, then; heltering hail
Epithalamion
THEE, God, I come from, to thee go
TO him who ever thought with love of me
Early Poems
For a Picture of St. Dorothea
I BEAR a basket lined with grass;
I am so light, I am so fair,
That men must wonder as I pass
And at the basket that I bear,
Where in a newlydrawn green litter
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
Early Poems 2
Page No 6
Sweet flowers I carry, sweets for bitter.
Lilies I shew you, lilies none,
None in Caesar's gardens blow,
And a quince in hand, not one
Is set upon your boughs below;
Not set, because their buds not spring;
Spring not, 'cause world is wintering.
But these were found in the East and South
Where Winter is the clime forgot.
The dewdrop on the larkspur's mouth
O should it then be quenchèd not?
In starry watermeads they drew
These drops: which be they? stars or dew?
Had she a quince in hand? Yet gaze:
Rather it is the sizing moon.
Lo, linkèd heavens with milky ways!
That was her larkspur row. So soon?
Sphered so fast, sweet soul? We see
Nor fruit, nor flowers, nor Dorothy.
HeavenHaven
A nun takes the veil
I HAVE desired to go
Where springs not fail,
To fields where flies no sharp and sided hail
And a few lilies blow.
And I have asked to be
Where no storms come,
Where the green swell is in the havens dumb,
And out of the swing of the sea.
The Habit of Perfection
ELECTED Silence, sing to me
And beat upon my whorlèd ear,
Pipe me to pastures still and be
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
HeavenHaven 3
Page No 7
The music that I care to hear.
Shape nothing, lips; be lovelydumb:
It is the shut, the curfew sent
From there where all surrenders come
Which only makes you eloquent.
Be shellèd, eyes, with double dark
And find the uncreated light:
This ruck and reel which you remark
Coils, keeps, and teases simple sight.
Palate, the hutch of tasty lust,
Desire not to be rinsed with wine:
The can must be so sweet, the crust
So fresh that come in fasts divine!
Nostrils, your careless breath that spend
Upon the stir and keep of pride,
What relish shall the censers send
Along the sanctuary side!
O feelofprimrose hands, O feet
That want the yield of plushy sward,
But you shall walk the golden street
And you unhouse and house the Lord.
And, Poverty, be thou the bride
And now the marriage feast begun,
And lilycoloured clothes provide
Your spouse not labouredat nor spun.
Poems 18761889
The Wreck of the Deutschland
To the
happy memory of five Franciscan Nuns
exiles by the Falk Laws
drowned between midnight and morning of
Dec. 7th. 1875
PART THE FIRST
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
Poems 18761889 4
Page No 8
THOU mastering me
God! giver of breath and bread;
World's strand, sway of the sea;
Lord of living and dead;
Thou hast bound bones and veins in me, fastened me flesh,
And after it almost unmade, what with dread,
Thy doing: and dost thou touch me afresh?
Over again I feel thy finger and find thee.
I did say yes
O at lightning and lashed rod;
Thou heardst me truer than tongue confess
Thy terror, O Christ, O God;
Thou knowest the walls, altar and hour and night:
The swoon of a heart that the sweep and the hurl of thee trod
Hard down with a horror of height:
And the midriff astrain with leaning of, laced with fire of stress.
The frown of his face
Before me, the hurtle of hell
Behind, where, where was a, where was a place?
I whirled out wings that spell
And fled with a fling of the heart to the heart of the Host.
My heart, but you were dovewinged, I can tell,
Carrierwitted, I am bold to boast,
To flash from the flame to the flame then, tower from the grace to the grace.
I am soft sift
In an hourglass at the wall
Fast, but mined with a motion, a drift,
And it crowds and it combs to the fall;
I steady as a water in a well, to a poise, to a pane,
But roped with, always, all the way down from the tall
Fells or flanks of the voel, a vein
Of the gospel proffer, a pressure, a principle, Christ's gift.
I kiss my hand
To the stars, lovelyasunder
Starlight, wafting him out of it; and
Glow, glory in thunder;
Kiss my hand to the dappledwithdamson west:
Since, tho' he is under the world's splendour and wonder,
His mystery must be instressed, stressed;
For I greet him the days I meet him, and bless when I understand.
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
Poems 18761889 5
Page No 9
Not out of his bliss
Springs the stress felt
Nor first from heaven (and few know this)
Swings the stroke dealt
Stroke and a stress that stars and storms deliver,
That guilt is hushed by, hearts are flushed by and melt
But it rides time like riding a river
(And here the faithful waver, the faithless fable and miss).
It dates from day
Of his going in Galilee;
Warmlaid grave of a womblife grey;
Manger, maiden's knee;
The dense and the driven Passion, and frightful sweat;
Thence the discharge of it, there its swelling to be,
Though felt before, though in high flood yet
What none would have known of it, only the heart, being hard at bay,
Is out with it! Oh,
We lash with the best or worst
Word last! How a lushkept plushcapped sloe
Will, mouthed to fleshburst,
Gush! flush the man, the being with it, sour or sweet,
Brim, in a flash, full! Hither then, last or first,
To hero of Calvary, Christ, 's feet
Never ask if meaning it, wanting it, warned of it men go.
Be adored among men,
God, threenumberèd form;
Wring thy rebel, dogged in den,
Man's malice, with wrecking and storm.
Beyond saying sweet, past telling of tongue,
Thou art lightning and love, I found it, a winter and warm;
Father and fondler of heart thou hast wrung:
Hast thy dark descending and most art merciful then.
With an anvilding
And with fire in him forge thy will
Or rather, rather then, stealing as Spring
Through him, melt him but master him still:
Whether at once, as once at a crash Paul,
Or as Austin, a lingeringout sweet skill,
Make mercy in all of us, out of us all
Mastery, but be adored, but be adored King.
PART THE SECOND
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
Poems 18761889 6
Page No 10
'Some find me a sword; some
The flange and the rail; flame,
Fang, or flood' goes Death on drum,
And storms bugle his fame.
But wé dream we are rooted in earth Dust!
Flesh falls within sight of us, we, though our flower the same,
Wave with the meadow, forget that there must
The sour scythe cringe, and the blear share come.
On Saturday sailed from Bremen,
Americanoutwardbound,
Take settler and seamen, tell men with women,
Two hundred souls in the round
O Father, not under thy feathers nor ever as guessing
The goal was a shoal, of a fourth the doom to be drowned;
Yet did the dark side of the bay of thy blessing
Not vault them, the million of rounds of thy mercy not reeve even them in?
Into the snows she sweeps,
Hurling the haven behind,
The Deutschland, on Sunday; and so the sky keeps,
For the infinite air is unkind,
And the sea flintflake, blackbacked in the regular blow,
Sitting Eastnortheast, in cursed quarter, the wind;
Wiry and whitefiery and whirlwindswivellèd snow
Spins to the widowmaking unchilding unfathering deeps.
She drove in the dark to leeward,
She struck not a reef or a rock
But the combs of a smother of sand: night drew her
Dead to the Kentish Knock;
And she beat the bank down with her bows and the ride of her keel:
The breakers rolled on her beam with ruinous shock;
And canvas and compass, the whorl and the wheel
Idle for ever to waft her or wind her with, these she endured.
Hope had grown grey hairs,
Hope had mourning on,
Trenched with tears, carved with cares,
Hope was twelve hours gone;
And frightful a nightfall folded rueful a day
Nor rescue, only rocket and lightship, shone,
And lives at last were washing away:
To the shrouds they took, they shook in the hurling and
horrible airs.
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
Poems 18761889 7
Page No 11
One stirred from the rigging to save
The wild womankind below,
With a rope's end round the man, handy and brave
He was pitched to his death at a blow,
For all his dreadnought breast and braids of thew:
They could tell him for hours, dandled the to and fro
Through the cobbled foamfleece, what could he do
With the burl of the fountains of air, buck and the flood of the wave?
They fought with God's cold
And they could not and fell to the deck
(Crushed them) or water (and drowned them) or rolled
With the searomp over the wreck.
Night roared, with the heartbreak hearing a heartbroke rabble,
The woman's wailing, the crying of child without check
Till a lioness arose breasting the babble,
A prophetess towered in the tumult, a virginal tongue told.
Ah, touched in your bower of bone
Are you! turned for an exquisite smart,
Have you! make words break from me here all alone,
Do you! mother of being in me, heart.
O unteachably after evil, but uttering truth,
Why, tears! is it? tears; such a melting, a madrigal start!
Nevereldering revel and river of youth,
What can it be, this glee? the good you have there of your own?
Sister, a sister calling
A master, her master and mine!
And the inboard seas run swirling and hawling;
The rash smart sloggering brine
Blinds her; but she that weather sees one thing, one;
Has one fetch in her: she rears herself to divine
Ears, and the call of the tall nun
To the men in the tops and the tackle rode over the storm's brawling.
She was first of a five and came
Of a coifèd sisterhood.
(O Deutschland, double a desperate name!
O world wide of its good!
But Gertrude, lily, and Luther, are two of a town,
Christ's lily and beast of the waste wood:
From life's dawn it is drawn down,
Abel is Cain's brother and breasts they have sucked the same.)
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
Poems 18761889 8
Page No 12
Loathed for a love men knew in them,
Banned by the land of their birth,
Rhine refused them. Thames would ruin them;
Surf, snow, river and earth
Gnashed: but thou art above, thou Orion of light;
Thy unchancelling poising palms were weighing the worth,
Thou martyrmaster: in thy sight
Storm flakes were scrollleaved flowers, lily showers sweet heaven was astrew in them.
Five! the finding and sake
And cipher of suffering Christ.
Mark, the mark is of man's make
And the word of it Sacrificed.
But he scores it in scarlet himself on his own bespoken,
Beforetimetaken, dearest prizèd and priced
Stigma, signal, cinquefoil token
For lettering of the lamb's fleece, ruddying of the roseflake.
Joy fall to thee, father Francis,
Drawn to the Life that died;
With the gnarls of the nails in thee, niche of the lance, his
Lovescape crucified
And seal of his serapharrival! and these thy daughters
And fivelivèd and leavèd favour and pride,
Are sisterly sealed in wild waters,
To bathe in his fallgold mercies, to breathe in his allfire glances.
Away in the loveable west,
On a pastoral forehead of Wales,
I was under a roof here, I was at rest,
And they the prey of the gales;
She to the blackabout air, to the breaker, the thickly
Falling flakes, to the throng that catches and quails
Was calling 'O Christ, Christ, come quickly':
The cross to her she calls Christ to her, christens her wildworst Best.
The majesty! what did she mean?
Breathe, arch and original Breath.
Is it love in her of the being as her lover had been?
Breathe, body of lovely Death.
They were elseminded then, altogether, the men
Woke thee with a we are perishing in the weather of Gennesareth.
Or is it that she cried for the crown then,
The keener to come at the comfort for feeling the combating keen?
For how to the heart's cheering
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
Poems 18761889 9
Page No 13
The downdugged groundhugged grey
Hovers off, the jayblue heavens appearing
Of pied and peeled May!
Bluebeating and hoaryglow height; or night, still higher,
With belled fire and the mothsoft Milky Way,
What by your measure is the heaven of desire,
The treasure never eyesight got, nor was ever guessed what for the hearing?
No, but it was not these.
The jading and jar of the cart,
Time's tasking, it is fathers that asking for ease
Of the soddenwithitssorrowing heart,
Not danger, electrical horror; then further it finds
The appealing of the Passion is tenderer in prayer apart:
Other, I gather, in measure her mind's
Burden, in wind's burly and beat of endragonèd seas.
But how shall I ... make me room there:
Reach me a ... Fancy, come faster
Strike you the sight of it? look at it loom there,
Thing that she ... there then! the Master,
Ipse, the only one, Christ, King, Head:
He was to cure the extremity where he had cast her;
Do, deal, lord it with living and dead;
Let him ride, her pride, in his triumph, despatch and have done with his doom there.
Ah! there was a heart right!
There was single eye!
Read the unshapeable shock night
And knew the who and the why;
Wording it how but by him that present and past,
Heaven and earth are word of, worded by?
The Simon Peter of a soul! to the blast
Tarpeianfast, but a blown beacon of light.
Jesu, heart's light,
Jesu, maid's son,
What was the feast followed the night
Thou hadst glory of this nun?
Feast of the one woman without stain.
For so conceivèd, so to conceive thee is done;
But here was heartthroe, birth of a brain,
Word, that heard and kept thee and uttered thee outright.
Well, she has thee for the pain, for the
Patience; but pity of the rest of them!
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
Poems 18761889 10
Page No 14
Heart, go and bleed at a bitterer vein for the
Comfortless unconfessed of them
No not uncomforted: lovelyfelicitous Providence
Finger of a tender of; O of a feathery delicacy, the breast of the
Maiden could obey so, be a bell to, ring of it, and
Startle the poor sheep back! is the shipwrack then a harvest, does tempest carry the grain for thee?
I admire thee, master of the tides,
Of the Yoreflood, of the year's fall;
The recurb and the recovery of the gulf's sides,
The girth of it and the wharf of it and the wall;
Stanching, quenching ocean of a motionable mind;
Ground of being, and granite of it: past all
Grasp God, throned behind
Death with a sovereignty that heeds but hides, bodes but abides;
With a mercy that outrides
The all of water, an ark
For the listener; for the lingerer with a love glides
Lower than death and the dark;
A vein for the visiting of the pastprayer, pent in prison,
Thelastbreath penitent spirits the uttermost mark
Our passionplungèd giant risen,
The Christ of the Father compassionate, fetched in the storm of his strides.
Now burn, new born to the world,
Doublednaturèd name,
The heavenflung, heartfleshed, maidenfurled
MiracleinMaryofflame,
Midnumbered He in three of the thunderthrone!
Not a doomsday dazzle in his coming nor dark as he came;
Kind, but royally reclaiming his own;
A released shower, let flash to the shire, not a lightning of fire hardhurled.
Dame, at our door
Drowned, and among our shoals,
Remember us in the roads, the heavenhaven of the Reward:
Our King back, oh, upon English souls!
Let him easter in us, be a dayspring to the dimness of us, be a crimsoncresseted east,
More brightening her, raredear Britain, as his reign rolls,
Pride, rose, prince, hero of us, highpriest,
Our hearts' charity's hearth's fire, our thoughts' chivalry's throng's Lord.
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
Poems 18761889 11
Page No 15
Penmaen Pool
For the Visitors' Book at the Inn
WHO long for rest, who look for pleasure
Away from counter, court, or school
O where live well your lease of leisure
But here at, here at Penmaen Pool?
You'll dare the Alp? you'll dart the skiff?
Each sport has here its tackle and tool:
Come, plant the staff by Cadair cliff;
Come, swing the sculls on Penmaen Pool.
What's yonder? Grizzled Dyphwys dim:
The triplehummocked Giant's stool,
Hoar messmate, hobs and nobs with him
To halve the bowl of Penmaen Pool.
And all the landscape under survey,
At tranquil turns, by nature's rule,
Rides repeated topsyturvy
In frank, in fairy Penmaen Pool.
And Charles's Wain, the wondrous seven,
And sheepflock clouds like worlds of wool,
For all they shine so, high in heaven,
Shew brighter shaken in Penmaen Pool.
The Mawddach, how she trips! though throttled
If floodtide teeming thrills her full,
And mazy sands all waterwattled
Waylay her at ebb, past Penmaen Pool.
But what's to see in stormy weather,
When grey showers gather and gusts are cool?
Why, raindroproundels looped together
That lace the face of Penmaen Pool.
Then even in weariest wintry hour
Of New Year's month or surly Yule
Furred snows, charged tuft above tuft, tower
From darksome darksome Penmaen Pool.
And ever, if bound here hardest home,
You've parlourpastime left and (who'll
Not honour it?) ale like goldy foam
That frocks an oar in Penmaen Pool.
Then come who pine for peace or pleasure
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
Penmaen Pool 12
Page No 16
Away from counter, court, or school,
Spend here your measure of time and treasure
And taste the treats of Penmaen Pool.
The Silver Jubilee:
To James First Bishop of Shrewsbury on the 25th Year of his Episcopate July 28. 1876
THOUGH no highhung bells or din
Of braggart bugles cry it in
What is sound? Nature's round
Makes the Silver Jubilee.
Five and twenty years have run
Since sacred fountains to the sun
Sprang, that but now were shut,
Showering Silver Jubilee.
Feasts, when we shall fall asleep,
Shrewsbury may see others keep;
None but you this her true,
This her Silver Jubilee.
Not today we need lament
Your wealth of life is some way spent:
Toil has shed round your head
Silver but for Jubilee.
Then for her whose velvet vales
Should have pealed with welcome, Wales,
Let the chime of a rhyme
Utter Silver Jubilee.
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
The Silver Jubilee: 13
Page No 17
God's Grandeur
THE world is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man's smudge and shares man's smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.
And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.
The Starlight Night
LOOK at the stars! look, look up at the skies!
O look at all the firefolk sitting in the air!
The bright boroughs, the circlecitadels there!
Down in dim woods the diamond delves! the elves'eyes!
The grey lawns cold where gold, where quickgold lies!
Windbeat whitebeam! airy abeles set on a flare!
Flakedoves sent floating forth at a farmyard scare!
Ah well! it is all a purchase, all is a prize.
Buy then! bid then! What? Prayer, patience, aims, vows.
Look, look: a Maymess, like on orchard boughs!
Look! Marchbloom, like on mealedwithyellow sallows!
These are indeed the barn; withindoors house
The shocks. This piecebright paling shuts the spouse
Christ home, Christ and his mother and all his hallows.
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
God's Grandeur 14
Page No 18
Spring
NOTHING is so beautiful as spring
When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush;
Thrush's eggs look little low heavens, and thrush
Through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring
The ear, it strikes like lightnings to hear him sing;
The glassy peartree leaves and blooms, they brush
The descending blue; that blue is all in a rush
With richness; the racing lambs too have fair their fling.
What is all this juice and all this joy?
A strain of the earth's sweet being in the beginning
In Eden garden. Have, get, before it cloy,
Before it cloud, Christ, lord, and sour with sinning,
Innocent mind and Mayday in girl and boy,
Most, O maid's child, thy choice and worthy the winning.
The Lantern out of Doors
SOMETIMES a lantern moves along the night,
That interests our eyes. And who goes there?
I think; where from and bound, I wonder, where,
With, all down darkness wide, his wading light?
Men go by me whom either beauty bright
In mould or mind or what not else makes rare:
They rain against our muchthick and marsh air
Rich beams, till death or distance buys them quite.
Death or distance soon consumes them: wind
What most I may eye after, be in at the end
I cannot, and out of sight is out of mind.
Christ minds: Christ's interest, what to avow or amend
There, éyes them, heart wánts, care haúnts, foot fóllows kínd,
Their ránsom, théir rescue, ánd first, fást, last friénd.
The Sea and the Skylark
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
Spring 15
Page No 19
ON ear and ear two noises too old to end
Trench right, the tide that ramps against the shore;
With a flood or a fall, low lulloff or all roar,
Frequenting there while moon shall wear and wend.
Left hand, off land, I hear the lark ascend,
His rashfresh rewinded newskeinèd score
In crisps of curl off wild winch whirl, and pour
And pelt music, till none 's to spill nor spend.
How these two shame this shallow and frail town!
How ring right out our sordid turbid time,
Being pure! We, life's pride and caredfor crown,
Have lost that cheer and charm of earth's past prime:
Our make and making break, are breaking, down
To man's last dust, drain fast towards man's first slime.
The Windhover:
To Christ our Lord
I CAUGHT this morning morning's minion, king
dom of daylight's dauphin, dappledawndrawn Falcon, in his riding
Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding
High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing
In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,
As a skate's heel sweeps smooth on a bowbend: the hurl and gliding
Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding
Stirred for a bird, the achieve of; the mastery of the thing!
Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here
Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion
Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier!
No wonder of it: shéer plód makes plough down sillion
Shine, and bluebleak embers, ah my dear,
Fall, gall themselves, and gash goldvermillion.
Pied Beauty
GLORY be to God for dappled things
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
The Windhover: 16
Page No 20
For skies of couplecolour as a brinded cow;
For rosemoles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Freshfirecoal chestnutfalls; finches' wings;
Landscape plotted and pieced fold, fallow, and plough;
And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim.
All things counter, original, spare, strange;
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathersforth whose beauty is past change:
Praise him.
Hurrahing in Harvest
SUMMER ends now; now, barbarous in beauty, the stooks arise
Around; up above, what windwalks! what lovely behaviour
Of silksack clouds! has wilder, wilfulwavier
Mealdrift moulded ever and melted across skies?
I walk, I lift up, I lift up heart, eyes,
Down all that glory in the heavens to glean our Saviour;
And, éyes, heárt, what looks, what lips yet gave you a
Rapturous love's greeting of realer, of rounder replies?
And the azurous hung hills are his worldwielding shoulder
Majestic as a stallion stalwart, veryvioletsweet!
These things, these things were here and but the beholder
Wanting; which two when they once meet,
The heart rears wings bold and bolder
And hurls for him, O half hurls earth for him off under his feet.
The Caged Skylark
AS a daregale skylark scanted in a dull cage
Man's mounting spirit in his bonehouse, mean house, dwells
That bird beyond the remembering his free fells;
This in drudgery, daylabouringout life's age.
Though aloft on turf or perch or poor low stage,
Both sing sometímes the sweetest, sweetest spells,
Yet both droop deadly sómetimes in their cells
Or wring their barriers in bursts of fear or rage.
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
Hurrahing in Harvest 17
Page No 21
Not that the sweetfowl, songfowl, needs no rest
Why, hear him, hear him babble and drop down to his nest,
But his own nest, wild nest, no prison.
Man's spirit will be fleshbound when found at best,
But uncumbered: meadowdown is not distressed
For a rainbow footing it nor he for his bónes rísen.
In the Valley of the Elwy
I REMEMBER a house where all were good
To me, God knows, deserving no such thing:
Comforting smell breathed at very entering,
Fetched fresh, as I suppose, off some sweet wood.
That cordial air made those kind people a hood
All over, as a bevy of eggs the mothering wing
Will, or mild nights the new morsels of spring:
Why, it seemed of course; seemed of right it should.
Lovely the woods, waters, meadows, combes, vales,
All the air things wear that build this world of Wales;
Only the inmate does not correspond:
God, lover of souls, swaying considerate scales,
Complete thy creature dear O where it fails,
Being mighty a master, being a father and fond.
The Loss of the Eurydice
Foundered March 24. 1878
THE Eurydice it concerned thee, O Lord:
Three hundred souls, O alas! on board,
Some asleep unawakened, all un
warned, eleven fathoms fallen
Where she foundered! One stroke
Felled and furled them, the hearts of oak!
And flockbells off the aerial
Downs' forefalls beat to the burial.
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
In the Valley of the Elwy 18
Page No 22
For did she pride her, freighted fully, on
Bounden bales or a hoard of bullion?
Precious passing measure,
Lads and men her lade and treasure.
She had come from a cruise, training seamen
Men, boldboys soon to be men:
Must it, worst weather,
Blast bole and bloom together?
No Atlantic squall overwrought her
Or rearing billow of the Biscay water:
Home was hard at hand
And the blow bore from land.
And you were a liar, O blue March day.
Bright sun lanced fire in the heavenly bay;
But what black Boreas wrecked her? he
Came equipped, deadlyelectric,
A beetling baldbright cloud thorough England
Riding: there did stores not mingle? and
Hailropes hustle and grind their
Heavengravel? wolfsnow, worlds of it, wind there?
Now Carisbrook keep goes under in gloom;
Now it overvaults Appledurcombe;
Now near by Ventnor town
It hurls, hurls off Boniface Down.
Too proud, too proud, what a press she bore!
Royal, and all her royals wore.
Sharp with her, shorten sail!
Too late; lost; gone with the gale.
This was that fell capsize,
As half she had righted and hoped to rise
Death teeming in by her portholes
Raced down decks, round messes of mortals.
Then a lurch forward, frigate and men;
'All hands for themselves' the cry ran then;
But she who had housed them thither
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
In the Valley of the Elwy 19
Page No 23
Was around them, bound them or wound them with her.
Marcus Hare, high her captain,
Kept to her caredrowned and wrapped in
Cheer's death, would follow
His charge through the champwhite waterinawallow,
All under Channel to bury in a beach her
Cheeks: Right, rude of feature,
He thought he heard say
'Her commander! and thou too, and thou this way.'
It is even seen, time's something server,
In mankind's medley a dutyswerver,
At downright 'No or yes?'
Doffs all, drives full for righteousness.
Sydney Fletcher, Bristolbred,
(Low lie his mates now on watery bed)
Takes to the seas and snows
As sheer down the ship goes.
Now her afterdraught gullies him too down;
Now he wrings for breath with the deathgush brown;
Till a lifebelt and God's will
Lend him a lift from the seaswill.
Now he shoots short up to the round air;
Now he gasps, now he gazes everywhere;
But his eye no cliff, no coast or
Mark makes in the rivelling snowstorm.
Him, after an hour of wintry waves,
A schooner sights, with another, and saves,
And he boards her in Oh! such joy
He has lost count what came next, poor boy.
They say who saw one seacorpse cold
He was all of lovely manly mould,
Every inch a tar,
Of the best we boast our sailors are.
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
In the Valley of the Elwy 20
Page No 24
Look, foot to forelock, how all things suit! he
Is strung by duty, is strained to beauty,
And brownasdawningskinned
With brine and shine and whirling wind.
O his nimble finger, his gnarled grip!
Leagues, leagues of seamanship
Slumber in these forsaken
Bones, this sinew, and will not waken.
He was but one like thousands more,
Day and night I deplore
My people and born own nation,
Fast foundering own generation.
I might let bygones be our curse
Of ruinous shrine no hand or, worse,
Robbery's hand is busy to
Dress, hoarhallowèd shrines unvisited;
Only the breathing temple and fleet
Life, this wildworth blown so sweet,
These daredeaths, ay this crew, in
Unchrist, all rolled in ruin
Deeply surely I need to deplore it,
Wondering why my master bore it,
The riving off that race
So at home, time was, to his truth and grace
That a starlightwender of ours would say
The marvellous Milk was Walsingham Way
And one but let be, let be:
More, more than was will yet be.
O well wept, mother have lost son;
Wept, wife; wept, sweetheart would be one:
Though grief yield them no good
Yet shed what tears sad truelove should.
But to Christ lord of thunder
Crouch; lay knee by earth low under:
'Holiest, loveliest, bravest,
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
In the Valley of the Elwy 21
Page No 25
Save my hero, O Hero savest.
And the prayer thou hearst me making
Have, at the awful overtaking,
Heard; have heard and granted
Grace that day grace was wanted.'
Not that hell knows redeeming,
But for souls sunk in seeming
Fresh, till doomfire burn all,
Prayer shall fetch pity eternal.
The May Magnificat
MAY is Mary's month, and I
Muse at that and wonder why:
Her feasts follow reason,
Dated due to season
Candlemas, Lady Day;
But the Lady Month, May,
Why fasten that upon her,
With a feasting in her honour?
Is it only its being brighter
Than the most are must delight her?
Is it opportunest
And flowers finds soonest?
Ask of her, the mighty mother:
Her reply puts this other
Question: What is Spring?
Growth in every thing
Flesh and fleece, fur and feather,
Grass and greenworld all together;
Stareyed strawberrybreasted
Throstle above her nested
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
The May Magnificat 22
Page No 26
Cluster of bugle blue eggs thin
Forms and warms the life within;
And bird and blossom swell
In sod or sheath or shell.
All things rising, all things sizing
Mary sees, sympathising
With that world of good,
Nature's motherhood.
Their magnifying of each its kind
With delight calls to mind
How she did in her stored
Magnify the Lord.
Well but there was more than this:
Spring's universal bliss
Much, had much to say
To offering Mary May.
When dropofbloodandfoamdapple
Bloom lights the orchardapple
And thicket and thorp are merry
With silversurfèd cherry
And azuringover greybell makes
Wood banks and brakes wash wet like lakes
And magic cuckoocall
Caps, clears, and clinches all
This ecstasy all through mothering earth
Tells Mary her mirth till Christ's birth
To remember and exultation
In God who was her salvation.
Binsey Poplars
felled 1879
MY aspens dear, whose airy cages quelled,
Quelled or quenched in leaves the leaping sun,
All felled, felled, are all felled;
Of a fresh and following folded rank
Not spared, not one
That dandled a sandalled
Shadow that swam or sank
On meadow and river and windwandering weedwinding bank.
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
Binsey Poplars 23
Page No 27
O if we but knew what we do
When we delve or hew
Hack and rack the growing green!
Since country is so tender
To touch, her being só slender,
That, like this sleek and seeing ball
But a prick will make no eye at all,
Where we, even where we mean
To mend her we end her,
When we hew or delve:
Aftercomers cannot guess the beauty been.
Ten or twelve, only ten or twelve
Strokes of havoc únselve
The sweet especial scene,
Rural scene, a rural scene,
Sweet especial rural scene.
Duns Scotus's Oxford
TOWERY city and branchy between towers;
Cuckooechoing, bellswarmèd, larkcharmèd, rookracked, riverrounded;
The dappleeared lily below thee; that country and town did
Once encounter in, here coped and poisèd powers;
Thou hast a base and brickish skirt there, sours
That neighbournature thy grey beauty is grounded
Best in; graceless growth, thou hast confounded
Rural rural keeping folk, flocks, and flowers.
Yet ah! this air I gather and I release
He lived on; these weeds and waters, these walls are what
He haunted who of all men most sways my spirits to peace;
Of realty the rarestveinèd unraveller; a not
Rivalled insight, be rival Italy or Greece;
Who fired France for Mary without spot.
Henry Purcell
The poet wishes well to the divine genius of Purcell and praises him that, whereas other musicians have
given utterance to the moods of man's mind, he has, beyond that, uttered in notes the very make and species
of man as created both in him and in all men generally.
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
Duns Scotus's Oxford 24
Page No 28
HAVE, fair fallen, O fair, fair have fallen, so dear
To me, so archespecial a spirit as heaves in Henry Purcell,
An age is now since passed, since parted; with the reversal
Of the outward sentence low lays him, listed to a heresy, here.
Not mood in him nor meaning, proud fire or sacred fear,
Or love or pity or all that sweet notes not his might nursle:
It is the forgèd feature finds me; it is the rehearsal
Of own, of abrupt self there so thrusts on, so throngs the ear.
Let him Oh! with his air of angels then lift me, lay me! only I'll
Have an eye to the sakes of him, quaint moonmarks, to his pelted plumage under
Wings: so some great stormfowl, whenever he has walked his while
The thunderpurple seabeach plumèd purpleofthunder,
If a wuthering of his palmy snowpinions scatter a colossal smile
Off him, but meaning motion fans fresh our wits with wonder.
Peace
WHEN will you ever, Peace, wild wooddove, shy wings shut,
Your round me roaming end, and under be my boughs?
When, when, Peace, will you, Peace? I'll not play hypocrite
To own my heart: I yield you do come sometimes; but
That piecemeal peace is poor peace. What pure peace allows
Alarms of wars, the daunting wars, the death of it?
O surely, reaving Peace, my Lord should leave in lieu
Some good! And so he does leave Patience exquisite,
That plumes to Peace thereafter. And when Peace here does house
He comes with work to do, he does not come to coo,
He comes to brood and sit.
The Bugler's First Communion
A BUGLAR boy from barrack (it is over the hill
There) boy bugler, born, he tells me, of Irish
Mother to an English sire (he
Shares their best gifts surely, fall how things will),
This very very day came down to us after a boon he on
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
Peace 25
Page No 29
My late being there begged of me, overflowing
Boon in my bestowing,
Came, I say, this day to it to a First Communion.
Here he knelt then ín regimental red.
Forth Christ from cupboard fetched, how fain I of feet
To his youngster take his treat!
Lowlatched in leaflight housel his too huge godhead.
There! and your sweetest sendings, ah divine,
By it, heavens, befall him! as a heart Christ's darling, dauntless;
Tongue true, vaunt and tauntless;
Breathing bloom of a chastity in mansex fine.
Frowning and forefending angelwarder
Squander the hellrook ranks sally to molest him;
March, kind comrade, abreast him;
Dress his days to a dexterous and starlight order.
How it dóes my heart good, visiting at that bleak hill,
When limber liquid youth, that to all I teach
Yields tender as a pushed peach,
Hies headstrong to its wellbeing of a selfwise selfwill!
Then though I should tread tufts of consolation
Dáys áfter, só I in a sort deserve to
And do serve God to serve to
Just such slips of soldiery Christ's royal ration.
Nothing élse is like it, no, not all so strains
Us: fresh youth fretted in a bloomfall all portending
That sweet's sweeter ending;
Realm both Christ is heir to and thére réigns.
O now well work that sealing sacred ointment!
O for now charms, arms, what bans off bad
And locks love ever in a lad!
Let mé though see no more of him, and not disappointment
Those sweet hopes quell whose least me quickenings lift,
In scarlet or somewhere of some day seeing
That brow and bead of being,
An our day's God's own Galahad. Though this child's drift
Seems by a divíne doom chánnelled, nor do I cry
Disaster there; but may he not rankle and roam
In backwheels though bound home?
That left to the Lord of the Eucharist, I here lie by;
Recorded only, I have put my lips on pleas
Would brandle adamantine heaven with ride and jar, did
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
Peace 26
Page No 30
Prayer go disregarded:
Forwardlike, but however, and like favourable heaven heard these.
Morning Midday and Evening Sacrifice
THE dappled dieaway
Cheek and wimpled lip,
The goldwisp, the airygrey
Eye, all in fellowship
This, all this beauty blooming,
This, all this freshness fuming,
Give God while worth consuming.
Both thought and thew now bolder
And told by Nature: Tower;
Head, heart, hand, heel, and shoulder
That beat and breathe in power
This pride of prime's enjoyment
Take as for tool, not toy meant
And hold at Christ's employment.
The vault and scope and schooling
And mastery in the mind,
In silkash kept from cooling,
And ripest under rind
What life half lifts the latch of,
What hell stalks towards the snatch of,
Your offering, with despatch, of!
Andromeda
NOW Time's Andromeda on this rock rude,
With not her either beauty's equal or
Her injury's, looks off by both horns of shore,
Her flower, her piece of being, doomed dragon's food.
Time past she has been attempted and pursued
By many blows and banes; but now hears roar
A wilder beast from West than all were, more
Rife in her wrongs, more lawless, and more lewd.
Her Perseus linger and leave her tó her extremes?
Pillowy air he treads a time and hangs
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
Morning Midday and Evening Sacrifice 27
Page No 31
His thoughts on her, forsaken that she seems,
All while her patience, morselled into pangs,
Mounts; then to alight disarming, no one dreams,
With Gorgon's gear and barebill, thongs and fangs.
The Candle Indoors
SOME candle clear burns somewhere I come by.
I muse at how its being puts blissful back
With yellowy moisture mild night's blearall black,
Or tofro tender trambeams truckle at the eye.
By that window what task what fingers ply,
I plod wondering, awanting, just for lack
Of answer the eagerer awanting Jessy or Jack
There God to aggrándise, God to glorify.
Come you indoors, come home; your fading fire
Mend first and vital candle in close heart's vault:
You there are master, do your own desire;
What hinders? Are you beamblind, yet to a fault
In a neighbour defthanded? Are you that liar
And, cast by conscience out, spendsavour salt?
The Handsome Heart:
at a Gracious Answer
'BUT tell me, child, your choice; what shall I buy
You?' 'Father, what you buy me I like best.'
With the sweetest air that said, still plied and pressed,
He swung to his first poised purport of reply.
What the heart is! which, like carriers let fly
Doff darkness, homing nature knows the rest
To its own fine function, wild and selfinstressed,
Falls light as ten years long taught how to and why.
Mannerlyhearted! more than handsome face
Beauty's bearing or muse of mounting vein,
All, in this case, bathed in high hallowing grace...
Of heaven what boon to buy you, boy, or gain
Not granted? Only ... O on that path you pace
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
The Candle Indoors 28
Page No 32
Run all your race, O brace sterner that strain!
At the Wedding March
GOD with honour hang your head,
Groom, and grace you, bride, your bed
With lissome scions, sweet scions,
Out of hallowed bodies bred.
Each be other's comfort kind:
Déep, déeper than divined,
Divine charity, dear charity,
Fast you ever, fast bind.
Then let the March tread our ears:
I to him turn with tears
Who to wedlock, his wonder wedlock,
Déals tríumph and immortal years.
Felix Randal
FELIX Randal the farrier, O he is dead then? my duty all ended,
Who have watched his mould of man, bigboned and hardyhandsome
Pining, pining, till time when reason rambled in it and some
Fatal four disorders, fleshed there, all contended?
Sickness broke him. Impatient he cursed at first, but mended
Being anointed and all; though a heavenlier heart began some
Months earlier, since I had our sweet reprieve and ransom
Tendered to him. Ah well, God rest him all road ever he offended!
This seeing the sick endears them to us, us too it endears.
My tongue had taught thee comfort, touch had quenched thy tears,
Thy tears that touched my heart, child, Felix, poor Felix Randal;
How far from then forethought of, all thy more boisterous years,
When thou at the random grim forge, powerful amidst peers,
Didst fettle for the great grey drayhorse his bright and battering sandal!
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
At the Wedding March 29
Page No 33
Brothers
HOW lovely the elder brother's
Life all laced in the other's,
Lóvelaced! what once I well
Witnessed; so fortune fell.
When Shrovetide, two years gone,
Our boys' plays brought on
Part was picked for John,
Young Jóhn: then fear, then joy
Ran revel in the elder boy.
Their night was come now; all
Our company thronged the hall;
Henry, by the wall,
Beckoned me beside him:
I came where called, and eyed him
By meanwhiles; making my play
Turn most on tender byplay.
For, wrung all on love's rack,
My lad, and lost in Jack,
Smiled, blushed, and bit his lip;
Or drove, with a diver's dip,
Clutched hands down through clasped knees
Truth's tokens tricks like these,
Old telltales, with what stress
He hung on the imp's success.
Now the other was brássbóld:
Hé had no work to hold
His heart up at the strain;
Nay, roguish ran the vein.
Two tedious acts were past;
Jack's call and cue at last;
When Henry, heartforsook,
Dropped eyes and dared not look.
Eh, how áll rúng!
Young dog, he did give tongue!
But Harry in his hands he has flung
His teartricked cheeks of flame
For fond love and for shame.
Ah Nature, framed in fault,
There 's comfort then, there 's salt;
Nature, bad, base, and blind,
Dearly thou canst be kind;
There dearly thén, deárly,
I'll cry thou canst be kind.
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
Brothers 30
Page No 34
Spring and Fall:
to a young child
MÁRGARÉT, áre you gríeving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leáves, líke the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Áh! ás the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you wíll weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sórrow's spríngs áre the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It ís the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.
Spelt from Sibyl's Leaves
EARNEST, earthless, equal, attuneable, ' vaulty, voluminous, ... stupendous
Evening strains to be tíme's vást, ' wombofall, homeofall, hearseofall night.
Her fond yellow hornlight wound to the west, ' her wild hollow hoarlight hung to the height
Waste; her earliest stars, earlstars, ' stárs principal, overbend us,
Fíreféaturing heaven. For earth ' her being has unbound, her dapple is at an end, as
tray or aswarm, all throughther, in throngs; ' self ín self steepèd and páshed qúite
Disremembering, dísmémbering ' áll now. Heart, you round me right
With: Óur évening is over us; óur night ' whélms, whélms, ánd will end us.
Only the beakleaved boughs dragonish ' damask the toolsmooth bleak light; black,
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
Spring and Fall: 31
Page No 35
Ever so black on it. Óur tale, O óur oracle! ' Lét life, wáned, ah lét life wind
Off hér once skéined stained véined variety ' upon, áll on twó spools; párt, pen, páck
Now her áll in twó flocks, twó folds black, white; ' right, wrong; reckon but, reck but, mind
But thése two; wáre of a wórld where bút these ' twó tell, each off the óther; of a rack
Where, selfwrung, selfstrung, sheathe and shelterless, ' thóughts agaínst thoughts ín groans grínd.
Inversnaid
THIS darksome burn, horseback brown,
His rollrock highroad roaring down,
In coop and in comb the fleece of his foam
Flutes and low to the lake falls home.
A windpuffbonnet of fáwnfróth
Turns and twindles over the broth
Of a pool so pitchblack, féllfrówning,
It rounds and rounds Despair to drowning.
Degged with dew, dappled with dew
Are the groins of the braes that the brook treads through,
Wiry heathpacks, flitches of fern,
And the beadbonny ash that sits over the burn.
What would the world be, once bereft
Of wet and of wildness? Let them be left,
O let them be left, wildness and wet;
Long live the weeds and the wilderness yet.
AS kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies dráw fláme;
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
Inversnaid 32
Page No 36
AS kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies dráw fláme;
As tumbled over rim in roundy wells
Stones ring; like each tucked string tells, each hung bell's
Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name;
Each mortal thing does one thing and the same:
Deals out that being indoors each one dwells;
Selves goes itself; myself it speaks and spells,
Crying Whát I do is me: for that I came.
Í say móre: the just man justices;
Kéeps gráce: thát keeps all his goings graces;
Acts in God's eye what in God's eye he is
Chríst for Christ plays in ten thousand places,
Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his
To the Father through the features of men's faces.
Ribblesdale
EARTH, sweet Earth, sweet landscape, with leavés throng
And louchéd low grass, heaven that dost appeal
To, with no tongue to plead, no heart to feel;
That canst but only be, but dost that long
Thou canst but be, but that thou well dost; strong
Thy plea with him who dealt, nay does now deal,
Thy lovely dale down thus and thus bids reel
Thy river, and o'er gives all to rack or wrong.
And what is Earth's eye, tongue, or heart else, where
Else, but in dear and dogged man? Ah, the heir
To his own selfbent so bound, so tied to his turn,
To thriftless reave both our rich round world bare
And none reck of world after, this bids wear
Earth brows of such care, care and dear concern.
The Leaden Echo and the Golden Echo
(Maidens' song from St. Winefred's Well)
THE LEADEN ECHO
HOW to kéep is there ány any, is there none such, nowhere known some, bow or brooch or braid or brace,
láce, latch or catch or key to keep
Back beauty, keep it, beauty, beauty, beauty, ... from vanishing away?
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
Ribblesdale 33
Page No 37
Ó is there no frowning of these wrinkles, rankéd wrinkles deep,
Dówn? no waving off of these most mournful messengers, still messengers, sad and stealing messengers of
grey?
No there 's none, there 's none, O no there 's none,
Nor can you long be, what you now are, called fair,
Do what you may do, what, do what you may,
And wisdom is early to despair:
Be beginning; since, no, nothing can be done
To keep at bay
Age and age's evils, hoar hair,
Ruck and wrinkle, drooping, dying, death's worst, winding sheets, tombs and worms and tumbling to decay;
So be beginning, be beginning to despair.
O there 's none; no no no there 's none:
Be beginning to despair, to despair,
Despair, despair, despair, despair.
THE GOLDEN ECHO
Spare!
There ís one, yes I have one (Hush there!);
Only not within seeing of the sun,
Not within the singeing of the strong sun,
Tall sun's tingeing, or treacherous the tainting of the earth's air,
Somewhere elsewhere there is ah well where! one,
Oné. Yes I can tell such a key, I do know such a place,
Where whatever's prized and passes of us, everything that 's fresh and fast flying of us, seems to us sweet of
us and swiftly away with, done away with, undone,
Undone, done with, soon done with, and yet dearly and dangerously sweet
Of us, the wimpledwaterdimpled, notbymorningmatchèd face,
The flower of beauty, fleece of beauty, too too apt to, ah! to fleet,
Never fleets móre, fastened with the tenderest truth
To its own best being and its loveliness of youth: it is an everlastingness of, O it is an all youth!
Come then, your ways and airs and looks, locks, maiden gear, gallantry and gaiety and grace,
Winning ways, airs innocent, maiden manners, sweet looks, loose locks, long locks, lovelocks, gaygear,
going gallant, girlgrace
Resign them, sign them, seal them, send them, motion them with breath,
And with sighs soaring, soaring síghs deliver
Them; beautyintheghost, deliver it, early now, long before death
Give beauty back, beauty, beauty, beauty, back to God, beauty's self and beauty's giver.
See; not a hair is, not an eyelash, not the least lash lost; every hair
Is, hair of the head, numbered.
Nay, what we had lighthanded left in surly the mere mould
Will have waked and have waxed and have walked with the wind what while we slept,
This side, that side hurling a heavyheaded hundredfold
What while we, while we slumbered.
O then, weary then why When the thing we freely fórfeit is kept with fonder a care,
Fonder a care kept than we could have kept it, kept
Far with fonder a care (and we, we should have lost it) finer, fonder
A care kept. Where kept? Do but tell us where kept, where.
Yonder. What high as that! We follow, now we follow. Yonder, yes yonder, yonder,
Yonder.
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
Ribblesdale 34
Page No 38
The Blessed Virgin compared to the Air we Breathe
WILD air, worldmothering air,
Nestling me everywhere,
That each eyelash or hair
Girdles; goes home betwixt
The fleeciest, frailestflixed
Snowflake; that 's fairly mixed
With, riddles, and is rife
In every least thing's life;
This needful, never spent,
And nursing element;
My more than meat and drink,
My meal at every wink;
This air, which, by life's law,
My lung must draw and draw
Now but to breathe its praise,
Minds me in many ways
Of her who not only
Gave God's infinity
Dwindled to infancy
Welcome in womb and breast,
Birth, milk, and all the rest
But mothers each new grace
That does now reach our race
Mary Immaculate,
Merely a woman, yet
Whose presence, power is
Great as no goddess's
Was deemèd, dreamèd; who
This one work has to do
Let all God's glory through,
God's glory which would go
Through her and from her flow
Off, and no way but so.
I say that we are wound
With mercy round and round
As if with air: the same
Is Mary, more by name.
She, wild web, wondrous robe,
Mantles the guilty globe,
Since God has let dispense
Her prayers his providence:
Nay, more than almoner,
The sweet alms' self is her
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
The Blessed Virgin compared to the Air we Breathe 35
Page No 39
And men are meant to share
Her life as life does air.
If I have understood,
She holds high motherhood
Towards all our ghostly good
And plays in grace her part
About man's beating heart,
Laying, like air's fine flood,
The deathdance in his blood;
Yet no part but what will
Be Christ our Saviour still.
Of her flesh he took flesh:
He does take fresh and fresh,
Though much the mystery how,
Not flesh but spirit now
And makes, O marvellous!
New Nazareths in us,
Where she shall yet conceive
Him, morning, noon, and eve;
New Bethlems, and he born
There, evening, noon, and morn
Bethlem or Nazareth,
Men here may draw like breath
More Christ and baffle death;
Who, born so, comes to be
New self and nobler me
In each one and each one
More makes, when all is done,
Both God's and Mary's Son.
Again, look overhead
How air is azurèd;
O how! nay do but stand
Where you can lift your hand
Skywards: rich, rich it laps
Round the four fingergaps.
Yet such a sapphireshot,
Charged, steepèd sky will not
Stain light. Yea, mark you this:
It does no prejudice.
The glassblue days are those
When every colour glows,
Each shape and shadow shows.
Blue be it: this blue heaven
The seven or seven times seven
Hued sunbeam will transmit
Perfect, not alter it.
Or if there does some soft,
On things aloof, aloft,
Bloom breathe, that one breath more
Earth is the fairer for.
Whereas did air not make
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
The Blessed Virgin compared to the Air we Breathe 36
Page No 40
This bath of blue and slake
His fire, the sun would shake,
A blear and blinding ball
With blackness bound, and all
The thick stars round him roll
Flashing like flecks of coal,
Quartzfret, or sparks of salt,
In grimy vasty vault.
So God was god of old:
A mother came to mould
Those limbs like ours which are
What must make our daystar
Much dearer to mankind;
Whose glory bare would blind
Or less would win man's mind.
Through her we may see him
Made sweeter, not made dim,
And her hand leaves his light
Sifted to suit our sight.
Be thou then, O thou dear
Mother, my atmosphere;
My happier world, wherein
To wend and meet no sin;
Above me, round me lie
Fronting my froward eye
With sweet and scarless sky;
Stir in my ears, speak there
Of God's love, O live air,
Of patience, penance, prayer:
Worldmothering air, air wild,
Wound with thee, in thee isled,
Fold home, fast fold thy child.
To what serves Mortal Beauty?
TO what serves mortal beauty ' dangerous; does set danc
ing blood the Osealthatso ' feature, flung prouder form
Than Purcell tune lets tread to? ' See: it does this: keeps warm
Men's wits to the things that are; ' what good means where a glance
Master more may than gaze, ' gaze out of countenance.
Those lovely lads once, wetfresh ' windfalls of war's storm,
How then should Gregory, a father, ' have gleanèd else from swarm
ed Rome? But God to a nation ' dealt that day's dear chance.
To man, that needs would worship ' block or barren stone,
Our law says: Love what are ' love's worthiest, were all known;
World's loveliest men's selves. Self ' flashes off frame and face.
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
To what serves Mortal Beauty? 37
Page No 41
What do then? how meet beauty? ' Merely meet it; own,
Home at heart, heaven's sweet gift; ' then leave, let that alone.
Yea, wish that though, wish all, ' God's better beauty, grace.
(The Soldier)
YES. Why do we áll, seeing of a soldier, bless him? bless
Our redcoats, our tars? Both these being, the greater part,
But frail clay, nay but foul clay. Here it is: the heart,
Since, proud, it calls the calling manly, gives a guess
That, hopes that, makesbelieve, the men must be no less;
It fancies, feigns, deems, dears the artist after his art;
And fain will find as sterling all as all is smart,
And scarlet wear the spirit of wár thére express.
Mark Christ our King. He knows war, served this soldiering through;
He of all can handle a rope best. There he bides in bliss
Now, and séeing somewhére some mán do all that man can do,
For love he leans forth, needs his neck must fall on, kiss,
And cry 'O Christdone deed! So Godmadeflesh does too:
Were I come o'er again' cries Christ 'it should be this'.
(Carrion Comfort)
NOT, I'll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee;
Not untwist slack they may be these last strands of man
In me ór, most weary, cry I can no more. I can;
Can something, hope, wish day come, not choose not to be.
But ah, but O thou terrible, why wouldst thou rude on me
Thy wringworld right foot rock? lay a lionlimb against me? scan
With darksome devouring eyes my bruisèd bones? and fan,
O in turns of tempest, me heaped there; me frantic to avoid thee and flee?
Why? That my chaff might fly; my grain lie, sheer and clear.
Nay in all that toil, that coil, since (seems) I kissed the rod,
Hand rather, my heart lo! lapped strength, stole joy, would laugh, chéer.
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
(The Soldier) 38
Page No 42
Cheer whom though? the hero whose heavenhandling flung me, fóot tród
Me? or me that fought him? O which one? is it each one? That night, that year
Of now done darkness I wretch lay wrestling with (my God!) my God.
NO worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief,
NO worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief,
More pangs will, schooled at forepangs, wilder wring.
Comforter, where, where is your comforting?
Mary, mother of us, where is your relief?
My cries heave, herdslong; huddle in a main, a chief
Woe, worldsorrow; on an ageold anvil wince and sing
Then lull, then leave off. Fury had shrieked 'No ling
ering! Let me be fell: force I must be brief'.
O the mind, mind has mountains; cliffs of fall
Frightful, sheer, nomanfathomed. Hold them cheap
May who ne'er hung there. Nor does long our small
Durance deal with that steep or deep. Here! creep,
Wretch, under a comfort serves in a whirlwind: all
Life death does end and each day dies with sleep.
Tom's Garland:
upon the Unemployed
TOM garlanded with squat and surly steel
Tom; then Tom's fallowbootfellow piles pick
By him and rips out rockfire homeforth sturdy Dick;
Tom Heartatease, Tom Navvy: he is all for his meal
Sure, 's bed now. Low be it: lustily he his low lot (feel
That ne'er need hunger, Tom; Tom seldom sick,
Seldomer heartsore; that treads through, prickproof, thick
Thousands of thorns, thoughts) swings though. Commonweal
Little I reck ho! lacklevel in, if all had bread:
What! Country is honour enough in all us lordly head,
With heaven's lights high hung round, or, motherground
That mammocks, mighty foot. But no way sped,
Nor mind nor mainstrength; gold go garlanded
With, perilous, O nó; nor yet plod safe shod sound;
Undenizened, beyond bound
Of earth's glory, earth's ease, all; no one, nowhere,
In wide the world's weal; rare gold, bold steel, bare
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
NO worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief, 39
Page No 43
In both; care, but share care
This, by Despair, bred Hangdog dull; by Rage,
Manwolf, worse; and their packs infest the age.
Harry Ploughman
HARD as hurdle arms, with a broth of goldish flue
Breathed round; the rack of ribs; the scooped flank; lank
Ropeover thigh; kneenave; and barrelled shank
Head and foot, shoulder and shank
By a grey eye's heed steered well, one crew, fall to;
Stand at stress. Each limb's barrowy brawn, his thew
That onewhere curded, onewhere sucked or sank
Soared or sank ,
Though as a beechbole firm, finds his, as at a rollcall, rank
And features, in flesh, what deed he each must do
His sinewservice where do.
He leans to it, Harry bends, look. Back, elbow, and liquid waist
In him, all quail to the wallowing o' the plough: 's cheek crimsons; curls
Wag or crossbridle, in a wind lifted, windlaced
See his wind lilylocks laced;
Churlsgrace, too, child of Amansstrength, how it hangs or hurls
Them broad in bluff hide his frowning feet lashed! raced
With, along them, cragiron under and cold furls
Withafountain's shiningshot furls.
TO seem the stranger lies my lot, my life
TO seem the stranger lies my lot, my life
Among strangers. Father and mother dear,
Brothers and sisters are in Christ not near
And he my peace my parting, sword and strife.
England, whose honour O all my heart woos, wife
To my creating thought, would neither hear
Me, were I pleading, plead nor do I: I wear
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
Harry Ploughman 40
Page No 44
y of idle a being but by where wars are rife.
I am in Ireland now; now I am at a thírd
Remove. Not but in all removes I can
Kind love both give and get. Only what word
Wisest my heart breeds dark heaven's baffling ban
Bars or hell's spell thwarts. This to hoard unheard,
Heard unheeded, leaves me a lonely began.
I WAKE and feel the fell of dark, not day
I WAKE and feel the fell of dark, not day.
What hours, O what black hoürs we have spent
This night! what sights you, heart, saw; ways you went!
And more must, in yet longer light's delay.
With witness I speak this. But where I say
Hours I mean years, mean life. And my lament
Is cries countless, cries like dead letters sent
To dearest him that lives alas! away.
I am gall, I am heartburn. God's most deep decree
Bitter would have me taste: my taste was me;
Bones built in me, flesh filled, blood brimmed the curse.
Selfyeast of spirit a dull dough sours. I see
The lost are like this, and their scourge to be
As I am mine, their sweating selves; but worse.
PATIENCE, hard thing! the hard thing but to pray
PATIENCE, hard thing! the hard thing but to pray,
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
I WAKE and feel the fell of dark, not day 41
Page No 45
But bid for, Patience is! Patience who asks
Wants war, wants wounds; weary his times, his tasks;
To do without, take tosses, and obey.
Rare patience roots in these, and, these away,
Nowhere. Natural heart's ivy, Patience masks
Our ruins of wrecked past purpose. There she basks
Purple eyes and seas of liquid leaves all day.
We hear our hearts grate on themselves: it kills
To bruise them dearer. Yet the rebellious wills
Of us we do bid God bend to him even so.
And where is he who more and more distils
Delicious kindness? He is patient. Patience fills
His crisp combs, and that comes those ways we know.
MY own heart let me have more have pity on; let
MY own heart let me have more have pity on; let
Me live to my sad self hereafter kind,
Charitable; not live this tormented mind
With this tormented mind tormenting yet.
I cast for comfort I can no more get
By groping round my comfortless, than blind
Eyes in their dark can day or thirst can find
Thirst 's allinall in all a world of wet.
Soul, self; come, poor Jackself, I do advise
You, jaded, let be; call off thoughts awhile
Elsewhere; leave comfort rootroom; let joy size
At God knows when to God knows what; whose smile
's not wrung, see you; unforeseen times rather as skies
Betweenpie mountains lights a lovely mile.
That Nature is a Heraclitean Fire and of the comfort of the Resurrection
CLOUDPUFFBALL, torn tufts, tossed pillows ' flaunt forth, then chevy on an air
built thoroughfare: heavenroysterers, in gaygangs ' they throng; they glitter in marches.
Down roughcast, down dazzling whitewash, ' wherever an elm arches,
Shivelights and shadowtackle in long ' lashes lace, lance, and pair.
Delightfully the bright wind boisterous ' ropes, wrestles, beats earth bare
Of yestertempest's creases; in pool and rut peel parches
Squandering ooze to squeezed ' dough, crust, dust; stanches, starches
Squadroned masks and manmarks ' treadmire toil there
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
MY own heart let me have more have pity on; let 42
Page No 46
Footfretted in it. Millionfuelèd, ' nature's bonfire burns on.
But quench her bonniest, dearest ' to her, her clearestselvèd spark
Man, how fast his firedint, ' his mark on mind, is gone!
Both are in an unfathomable, all is in an enormous dark
Drowned. O pity and indig ' nation! Manshape, that shone
Sheer off, disseveral, a star, ' death blots black out; nor mark
Is any of him at all so stark
But vastness blurs and time ' beats level. Enough! the Resurrection,
A heart'sclarion! Away grief's gasping, ' joyless days, dejection.
Across my foundering deck shone
A beacon, an eternal beam. ' Flesh fade, and mortal trash
Fall to the residuary worm; ' world's wildfire, leave but ash:
In a flash, at a trumpet crash,
I am all at once what Christ is, ' since he was what I am, and
This Jack, joke, poor potsherd, ' patch, matchwood, immortal diamond,
Is immortal diamond.
In honour of St. Alphonsus Rodriguez Laybrother of the Society of Jesus
HONOUR is flashed off exploit, so we say;
And those strokes once that gashed flesh or galled shield
Should tongue that time now, trumpet now that field,
And, on the fighter, forge his glorious day.
On Christ they do and on the martyr may;
But be the war within, the brand we wield
Unseen, the heroic breast not outwardsteeled,
Earth hears no hurtle then from fiercest fray.
Yet God (that hews mountain and continent,
Earth, all, out; who, with trickling increment,
Veins violets and tall trees makes more and more)
Could crowd career with conquest while there went
Those years and years by of world without event
That in Majorca Alfonso watched the door.
Justus quidem tu es, Domine, si disputem tecum: verumtamen justa loquar ad te: Quare via impiorum
prosperatur?
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
In honour of St. Alphonsus Rodriguez Laybrother of the Society of Jesus 43
Page No 47
THOU art indeed just, Lord, if I contend
THOU art indeed just, Lord, if I contend
With thee; but, sir, so what I plead is just.
Why do sinners' ways prosper? and why must
Disappointment all I endeavour end?
Wert thou my enemy, O thou my friend,
How wouldst thou worse, I wonder, than thou dost
Defeat, thwart me? Oh, the sots and thralls of lust
Do in spare hours more thrive than I that spend,
Sir, life upon thy cause. See, banks and brakes
Now leavèd how thick! lacèd they are again
With fretty chervil, look, and fresh wind shakes
Them; birds build but not I build; no, but strain,
Time's eunuch, and not breed one work that wakes.
Mine, O thou lord of life, send my roots rain.
To R. B.
THE fine delight that fathers thought; the strong
Spur, live and lancing like the blowpipe flame,
Breathes once and, quenchèd faster than it came,
Leaves yet the mind a mother of immortal song.
Nine months she then, nay years, nine years she long
Within her wears, bears, cares and moulds the same:
The widow of an insight lost she lives, with aim
Now known and hand at work now never wrong.
Sweet fire the sire of muse, my soul needs this;
I want the one rapture of an inspiration.
O then if in my lagging lines you miss
The roll, the rise, the carol, the creation,
My winter world, that scarcely breathes that bliss
Now, yields you, with some sighs, our explanation.
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
THOU art indeed just, Lord, if I contend 44
Page No 48
Unfinished Poems Fragments
Summa
THE best ideal is the true
And other truth is none.
All glory be ascribèd to
The holy Three in One.
WHAT being in rankold nature should earlier have that breath been
WHAT being in rankold nature should earlier have that breath been
That hére pérsonal tells off these heartsong powerful peals?
A bushbrowed, beetlebrówed bíllow is it?
With a soúthwésterly wínd blústering, with a tide rolls reels
Of crumbling, forefoundering, thundering allsurfy seas in; seen
Únderneath, their glassy barrel, of a fairy green.
. . . . . . . .
Or a jaunting vaunting vaulting assaulting trumpet telling
On the Portrait of Two Beautiful Young People
A Brother and Sister
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
Unfinished Poems Fragments 45
Page No 49
O I admire and sorrow! The heart's eye grieves
Discovering you, dark tramplers, tyrant years.
A juice rides rich through bluebells, in vine leaves,
And beauty's dearest veriest vein is tears.
Happy the father, mother of these! Too fast:
Not that, but thus far, all with frailty, blest
In one fair fall; but, for time's aftercast,
Creatures all heft, hope, hazard, interest.
And are they thus? The fine, the fingering beams
Their young delightful hour do feature down
That fleeted else like daydissolvèd dreams
Or ringletrace on burling Barrow brown.
She leans on him with such contentment fond
As well the sister sits, would well the wife;
His looks, the soul's own letters, see beyond,
Gaze on, and fall directly forth on life.
But ah, bright forelock, cluster that you are
Of favoured make and mind and health and youth,
Where lies your landmark, seamark, or soul's star?
There's none but truth can stead you. Christ is truth.
There 's none but good can bé good, both for you
And what sways with you, maybe this sweet maid;
None good but God a warning wavèd to
One once that was found wanting when Good weighed.
Man lives that list, that leaning in the will
No wisdom can forecast by gauge or guess,
The selfless self of self, most strange, most still,
Fast furled and all foredrawn to No or Yes.
Your feast of; that most in you earnest eye
May but call on your banes to more carouse.
Worst will the best. What worm was here, we cry,
To have havocpocked so, see, the hungheavenward boughs?
Enough: corruption was the world's first woe.
What need I strain my heart beyond my ken?
O but I bear my burning witness though
Against the wild and wanton work of men.
. . . . . . .
THE sea took pity: it interposed with doom:
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
THE sea took pity: it interposed with doom: 46
Page No 50
THE sea took pity: it interposed with doom:
'I have tall daughters dear that heed my hand:
Let Winter wed one, sow them in her womb,
And she shall child them on the Newworld strand.'
. . . . . . . .
(Ashboughs)
a.
NOT of all my eyes see, wandering on the world,
Is anything a milk to the mind so, so sighs deep
Poetry to it, as a tree whose boughs break in the sky.
Say it is ashboughs: whether on a December day and furled
Fast ór they in clammyish lashtender combs creep
Apart wide and newnestle at heaven most high.
They touch heaven, tabour on it; how their talons sweep
The smouldering enormous winter welkin! May
Mells blue and snowwhite through them, a fringe and fray
Of greenery: it is old earth's groping towards the steep
Heaven whom she childs us by.
(Variant from line 7.) b.
They touch, they tabour on it, hover on it[; here, there hurled],
With talons sweep
The smouldering enormous winter welkin. [Eye,
But more cheer is when] May
Mells blue with snowwhite through their fringe and fray
Of greenery and old earth gropes for, grasps at steep
Heaven with it whom she childs things by.
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
(Ashboughs) 47
Page No 51
HOPE holds to Christ the mind's own mirror out
. . . . . . . .
HOPE holds to Christ the mind's own mirror out
To take His lovely likeness more and more.
It will not well, so she would bring about
An ever brighter burnish than before
And turns to wash it from her welling eyes
And breathes the blots off all with sighs on sighs.
Her glass is blest but she as good as blind
Holds till hand aches and wonders what is there;
Her glass drinks light, she darkles down behind,
All of her glorious gainings unaware.
. . . . . . . .
I told you that she turned her mirror dim
Betweenwhiles, but she sees herself not Him.
. . . . . . . .
St. Winefred's Well
ACT I. SC. I
Enter Teryth from riding, Winefred following.
T. WHAT is it, Gwen, my girl? why do you hover and haunt me?
W. You came by Caerwys, sir?
T. I came by Caerwys.
W. There
Some messenger there might have met you from my uncle.
T. Your uncle met the messenger met me; and this the message:
Lord Beuno comes tonight.
W. Tonight, sir!
T. Soon, now: therefore
Have all things ready in his room.
W. There needs but little doing.
T. Let what there needs be done. Stay! with him one companion,
His deacon, Dirvan Warm: twice over must the welcome be,
But both will share one cell. This was good news, Gwenvrewi.
W. Ah yes!
T. Why, get thee gone then; tell thy mother I want her.
Exit Winefred.
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HOPE holds to Christ the mind's own mirror out 48
Page No 52
No man has such a daughter. The fathers of the world
Call no such maiden 'mine'. The deeper grows her dearness
And more and more times laces round and round my heart,
The more some monstrous hand gropes with clammy fingers there,
Tampering with those sweet bines, draws them out, strains them, strains them;
Meantime some tongue cries 'What, Teryth! what, thou poor fond father!
How when this bloom, this honeysuckle, that rides the air so rich about thee,
Is all, all sheared away, thus!' Then I sweat for fear.
Or else a funeral, and yet 'tis not a funeral,
Some pageant which takes tears and I must foot with feeling that
Alive or dead my girl is carried in it, endlessly
Goes marching thro' my mind. What sense is this? It has none.
This is too much the father; nay the mother. Fanciful!
I here forbid my thoughts to fool themselves with fears.
Enter Gwenlo.
. . . . . . . .
ACT II. Scene, a wood ending in a steep bank over a dry dene, Winefred having been murdered within.
Reenter Caradoc with a bloody sword.
C. My heart, where have we been? What have we seen, my mind?
What stroke has Caradoc's right arm dealt? what done? Head of a rebel
Struck off it has; written upon lovely limbs,
In bloody letters, lessons of earnest, of revenge;
Monuments of my earnest, records of my revenge,
On one that went against me whéreas I had warned her
Warned her! well she knew. I warned her of this work.
What work? what harm 's done? There is no harm done, none yet;
Perhaps we struck no blow, Gwenvrewi lives perhaps;
To makebelieve my mood was mock. O I might think so
But here, here is a workman from his day's task sweats.
Wiped I am sure this was; it seems not well; for still,
Still the scarlet swings and dances on the blade.
So be it. Thou steel, thou butcher,
I cán scour thee, fresh burnish thee, sheathe thee in thy dark lair; these drops
Never, never, never in their blue banks again.
The woeful, Cradock, O the woeful word! Then what,
What have we seen? Her head, sheared from her shoulders, fall,
And lapped in shining hair, roll to the bank's edge; then
Down the beetling banks, like water in waterfalls,
It stooped and flashed and fell and ran like water away.
Her eyes, oh and her eyes!
In all her beauty, and sunlight to it is a pit, den, darkness,
Foamfalling is not fresh to it, rainbow by it not beaming,
In all her body, I say, no place was like her eyes,
No piece matched those eyes kept most part much cast down
But, being lifted, immortal, of immortal brightness.
Several times I saw them, thrice or four times turning;
Round and round they came and flashed towards heaven: O there,
There they did appeal. Therefore airy vengeances
Are afoot; heavenvault fast purpling portends, and what first lightning
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
HOPE holds to Christ the mind's own mirror out 49
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Any instant falls means me. And I do not repent;
I do not and I will not repent, not repent.
The blame bear who aroused me. What I have done violent
I have like a lion done, lionlike done,
Honouring an uncontrolled royal wrathful nature,
Mantling passion in a grandeur, crimson grandeur.
Now be my pride then perfect, all one piece. Henceforth
In a wide world of defiance Caradoc lives alone,
Loyal to his own soul, laying his own law down, no law nor
Lord now curb him for ever. O daring! O deep insight!
What is virtue? Valour; only the heart valiant.
And right? Only resolution; will, his will unwavering
Who, like me, knowing his nature to the heart home, nature's business,
Despatches with no flinching. But will flesh, O can flesh
Second this fiery strain? Not always; O no no!
We cannot live this life out; sometimes we must weary
And in this darksome world what comfort can I find?
Down this darksome world cómfort whére can I find
When 'ts light I quenched; its rose, time's one rich rose, my hand,
By her bloom, fast by her fresh, her fleecèd bloom,
Hideous dashed down, leaving earth a winter withering
With no now, no Gwenvrewi. I must miss her most
That might have spared her were it but for passionsake. Yes,
To hunger and not have, yét hope ón for, to storm and strive and
Be at every assault fresh foiled, worse flung, deeper disappointed,
The turmoil and the torment, it has, I swear, a sweetness,
Keeps a kind of joy in it, a zest, an edge, an ecstasy,
Next after sweet success. I am not left even this;
I all my being have hacked in half with her neck: one part,
Reason, selfdisposal, choice of better or worse way,
Is corpse now, cannot change; my other self, this soul,
Life's quick, this kínd, this kéen selffeeling,
With dreadful distillation of thoughts sour as blood,
Must all day long taste murder. What do nów then? Do? Nay,
Deedbound I am; one deed treads all down here cramps all doing. What do? Not yield,
Not hope, not pray; despair; ay, that: brazen despair out,
Brave all, and take what comes as here this rabble is come,
Whose bloods I reck no more of, no more rank with hers
Than sewers with sacred oils. Mankind, that mobs, comes. Come!
Enter a crowd, among them Teryth, Gwenlo, Beuno.
. . . . . . . .
After Winefred's raising from the dead and the breaking out of the fountain.
BEUNO. O now while skies are blue, now while seas are salt,
While rushy rains shall fall or brooks shall fleet from fountains,
While sick men shall cast sighs, of sweet health all despairing,
While blind men's eyes shall thirst after daylight, draughts of daylight,
Or deaf ears shall desire that lipmusic that 's lost upon them,
While cripples are, while lepers, dancers in dismal limbdance,
Fallers in dreadful frothpits, waterfearers wild,
Stone, palsy, cancer, cough, lung wasting, womb not bearing,
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
HOPE holds to Christ the mind's own mirror out 50
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Rupture, running sores, what more? in brief; in burden,
As long as men are mortal and God merciful,
So long to this sweet spot, this leafy leanover,
This Dry Dene, now no longer dry nor dumb, but moist and musical
With the uproll and the downcarol of day and night delivering
Water, which keeps thy name, (for not in róck wrítten,
But in pale water, frail water, wild rash and reeling water,
That will not wear a print, that will not stain a pen,
Thy venerable record, virgin, is recorded).
Here to this holy well shall pilgrimages be,
And not from purple Wales only nor from elmy England,
But from beyond seas, Erin, France and Flanders, everywhere,
Pilgrims, still pilgrims, móre pílgrims, still more poor pilgrims.
. . . . . . . .
What sights shall be when some that swung, wretches, on crutches
Their crutches shall cast from them, on heels of air departing,
Or they go rich as roseleaves hence that loathsome cáme hither!
Not now to náme even
Those dearer, more divine boons whose haven the heart is.
. . . . . . . .
As sure as what is most sure, sure as that spring primroses
Shall newdapple next year, sure as tomorrow morning,
Amongst comebackagain things, thíngs with a revival, things with a recovery,
Thy name...
. . . . . . . .
WHAT shall I do for the land that bred me,
WHAT shall I do for the land that bred me,
Her homes and fields that folded and fed me?
Be under her banner and live for her honour:
Under her banner I'll live for her honour.
CHORUS. Under her banner live for her honour.
Not the pleasure, the pay, the plunder,
But country and flag, the flag I am under
There is the shilling that finds me willing
To follow a banner and fight for honour.
CH. We follow her banner, we fight for her honour.
Call me England's fame's fond lover,
Her fame to keep, her fame to recover.
Spend me or end me what God shall send me,
But under her banner I live for her honour.
CH. Under her banner we march for her honour.
Where is the field I must play the man on?
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WHAT shall I do for the land that bred me, 51
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O welcome there their steel or cannon.
Immortal beauty is death with duty,
If under her banner I fall for her honour.
CH. Under her banner we fall for her honour.
THE times are nightfall, look, their light grows less
THE times are nightfall, look, their light grows less;
The times are winter, watch, a world undone:
They waste, they wither worse; they as they run
Or bring more or more blazon man's distress.
And I not help. Nor word now of success:
All is from wreck, here, there, to rescue one
Work which to see scarce so much as begun
Makes welcome death, does dear forgetfulness.
Or what is else? There is your world within.
There rid the dragons, root out there the sin.
Your will is law in that small commonweal...
Cheery Beggar
BEYOND Mágdalen and by the Bridge, on a place called there the Plain,
In Summer, in a burst of summertime
Following falls and falls of rain,
When the air was sweetandsour of the flown fineflower of
Those goldnails and their gaylinks that hang along a lime;
. . . . . . . .
The motion of that man's heart is fine
Whom want could not make píne, píne
That struggling should not sear him, a gift should cheer him
Like that poor pocket of pence, poor pence of mine.
. . . . . . . .
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THE times are nightfall, look, their light grows less 52
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DENIS, whose motionable, alert, most vaulting wit
DENIS, whose motionable, alert, most vaulting wit
Caps occasion with an intellectual fit.
Yet Arthur is a Bowman: his threeheeled timber 'll hit
The bald and bóld blínking gold when áll 's dóne
Right rooting in the bare butt's wincing navel in the sight of the sun.
. . . . . . . .
THE furl of freshleaved dogrose down
THE furl of freshleaved dogrose down
His cheeks the forthandflaunting sun
Had swarthed about with lionbrown
Before the Spring was done.
His locks like all a ravelrope'send,
With hempen strands in spray
Fallow, foamfallow, hanks fall'n off their ranks,
Swung down at a disarray.
Or like a juicy and jostling shock
Of bluebells sheaved in May
Or windlong fleeces on the flock
A day off shearing day.
Then over his turnèd temples here
Was a rose, or, failing that,
RoughRobin or fivelipped campion clear
For a beautybow to his hat,
And the sunlight sidled, like dewdrops, like dandled diamonds
Through the sieve of the straw of the plait.
. . . . . . .
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
DENIS, whose motionable, alert, most vaulting wit 53
Page No 57
The Woodlark
TEEVO cheevo cheevio chee:
O where, what can thát be?
Weedioweedio: there again!
So tiny a trickle of sóngstrain;
And all round not to be found
For brier, bough, furrow, or gréen ground
Before or behind or far or at hand
Either left either right
Anywhere in the súnlight.
Well, after all! Ah but hark
'I am the little wóodlark.
. . . . . . . .
Today the sky is two and two
With white strokes and strains of the blue
. . . . . . . .
Round a ring, around a ring
And while I sail (must listen) I sing
. . . . . . . .
The skylark is my cousin and he
Is known to men more than me
. . . . . . . .
...when the cry within
Says Go on then I go on
Till the longing is less and the good gone
But down drop, if it says Stop,
To the allaleaf of the tréetop
And after that off the bough
. . . . . . . .
I ám so véry, O soó very glad
That I dó thínk there is not to be had...
. . . . . . . .
The blue wheatacre is underneath
And the braided ear breaks out of the sheath,
The ear in milk, lush the sash,
And crushsilk poppies aflash,
The bloodgush bladegash
Flamerash rudred
Bud shelling or broadshed
Tattertasseltangled and dingleadangled
Dandyhung dainty head.
. . . . . . . .
And down ... the furrow dry
Sunspurge and oxeye
And lacedleaved lovely
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
The Woodlark 54
Page No 58
Foamtuft fumitory
. . . . . . . .
Through the velvety wind Vwinged
To the nest's nook I balance and buoy
With a sweet joy of a sweet joy,
Sweet, of a sweet, of a sweet joy
Of a sweet a sweet sweet joy.'
Moonrise
I AWOKE in the Midsummer not to call night, ' in the white and the walk of the morning:
The moon, dwindled and thinned to the fringe ' of a fingernail held to the candle,
Or paring of paradisaïcal fruit, ' lovely in waning but lustreless,
Stepped from the stool, drew back from the barrow, ' of dark Maenefa the mountain;
A cusp still clasped him, a fluke yet fanged him, ' entangled him, not quit utterly.
This was the prized, the desirable sight, ' unsought, presented so easily,
Parted me leaf and leaf, divided me, ' eyelid and eyelid of slumber.
REPEAT that, repeat
REPEAT that, repeat,
Cuckoo, bird, and open ear wells, heartsprings, delightfully sweet,
With a ballad, with a ballad, a rebound
Off trundled timber and scoops of the hillside ground, hollow hollow hollow ground:
The whole landscape flushes on a sudden at a sound.
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
Moonrise 55
Page No 59
On a piece of music
HOW all 's to one thing wrought!
[This poem appeared in the 1918 edition as facsimile, not print, and is not included here.]
'THE child is father to the man.'
'THE child is father to the man.'
How can he be? The words are wild.
Suck any sense from that who can:
'The child is father to the man.'
No; what the poet did write ran,
'The man is father to the child.'
'The child is father to the man!'
How can he be? The words are wild.
THE shepherd's brow, fronting forked lightning, owns
THE shepherd's brow, fronting forked lightning, owns
The horror and the havoc and the glory
Of it. Angels fall, they are towers, from heaven a story
Of just, majestical, and giant groans.
But man we, scaffold of score brittle bones;
Who breathe, from groundlong babyhood to hoary
Age gasp; whose breath is our memento mori
What bass is our viol for tragic tones?
He! Hand to mouth he lives, and voids with shame;
And, blazoned in however bold the name,
Man Jack the man is, just; his mate a hussy.
And I that die these deaths, that feed this flame,
That ... in smooth spoons spy life's masque mirrored: tame
My tempests there, my fire and fever fussy.
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
On a piece of music 56
Page No 60
To his Watch
MORTAL my mate, bearing my rockaheart
Warm beat with cold beat company, shall I
Earlier or you fail at our force, and lie
The ruins of, rifled, once a world of art?
The telling time our task is; time's some part,
Not all, but we were framed to fail and die
One spell and well that one. There, ah thereby
Is comfort's carol of all or woe's worst smart.
Fieldflown, the departed day no morning brings
Saying 'This was yours' with her, but new one, worse,
And then that last and shortest...
STRIKE, churl; hurl, cheerless wind, then; heltering hail
STRIKE, churl; hurl, cheerless wind, then; heltering hail
May's beauty massacre and wispèd wild clouds grow
Out on the giant air; tell Summer No,
Bid joy back, have at the harvest, keep Hope pale.
Epithalamion
HARK, hearer, hear what I do; lend a thought now, make believe
We are leafwhelmed somewhere with the hood
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
To his Watch 57
Page No 61
Of some branchy bunchy bushybowered wood,
Southern dene or Lancashire clough or Devon cleave,
That leans along the loins of hills, where a candycoloured, where a gluegoldbrown
Marbled river, boisterously beautiful, between
Roots and rocks is danced and dandled, all in froth and waterblowballs, down.
We are there, when we hear a shout
That the hanging honeysuck, the dogeared hazels in the cover
Makes dither, makes hover
And the riot of a rout
Of, it must be, boys from the town
Bathing: it is summer's sovereign good.
By there comes a listless stranger: beckoned by the noise
He drops towards the river: unseen
Sees the bevy of them, how the boys
With dare and with downdolphinry and bellbright bodies huddling out,
Are earthworld, airworld, waterworld thorough hurled, all by turn and turn about.
This garland of their gambols flashes in his breast
Into such a sudden zest
Of summertime joys
That he hies to a pool neighbouring; sees it is the best
There; sweetest, freshest, shadowiest;
Fairyland; silkbeech, scrolled ash, packed sycamore, wild wychelm, hornbeam fretty overstood
By. Rafts and rafts of flakeleaves light, dealt so, painted on the air,
Hang as still as hawk or hawkmoth, as the stars or as the angels there,
Like the thing that never knew the earth, never off roots
Rose. Here he feasts: lovely all is! No more: off with down he dings
His bleachèd both and woolwoven wear:
Careless these in coloured wisp
All lie tumbledto; then with looplocks
Forward falling, forehead frowning, lips crisp
Over fingerteasing task, his twiny boots
Fast he opens, last he offwrings
Till walk the world he can with bare his feet
And come where lies a coffer, burly all of blocks
Built of chancequarrièd, selfquainèd rocks
And the water warbles over into, filleted with glassy grassy quicksilvery shivès and shoots
And with heavenfallen freshness down from moorland still brims,
Dark or daylight on and on. Here he will then, here he will the fleet
Flinty kindcold element let break across his limbs
Long. Where we leave him, froliclavish while he looks about him, laughs, swims.
Enough now; since the sacred matter that I mean
I should be wronging longer leaving it to float
Upon this only gambolling and echoingofearth note
What is ... the delightful dene?
Wedlock. What the water? Spousal love.
. . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . .
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
To his Watch 58
Page No 62
Father, mother, brothers, sisters, friends
Into fairy trees, wild flowers, wood ferns
Rankèd round the bower
. . . . . . . .
THEE, God, I come from, to thee go
THEE, God, I come from, to thee go,
All day long I like fountain flow
From thy hand out, swayed about
Motelike in thy mighty glow.
What I know of thee I bless,
As acknowledging thy stress
On my being and as seeing
Something of thy holiness.
Once I turned from thee and hid,
Bound on what thou hadst forbid;
Sow the wind I would; I sinned:
I repent of what I did.
Bad I am, but yet thy child.
Father, be thou reconciled.
Spare thou me, since I see
With thy might that thou art mild.
I have life before me still
And thy purpose to fulfil;
Yea a debt to pay thee yet:
Help me, sir, and so I will.
But thou bidst, and just thou art,
Me shew mercy from my heart
Towards my brother, every other
Man my mate and counterpart.
. . . . . . . .
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
THEE, God, I come from, to thee go 59
Page No 63
TO him who ever thought with love of me
TO him who ever thought with love of me
Or ever did for my sake some good deed
I will appear, looking such charity
And kind compassion, at his life's last need
That he will out of hand and heartily
Repent he sinned and all his sins be freed.
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
TO him who ever thought with love of me 60
Bookmarks
1. Table of Contents, page = 3
2. Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins, page = 5
3. Edited by Robert Bridges, page = 5
4. Early Poems, page = 6
5. For a Picture of St. Dorothea, page = 6
6. Heaven-Haven , page = 7
7. The Habit of Perfection, page = 7
8. Poems 1876-1889, page = 8
9. The Wreck of the Deutschland , page = 8
10. Penmaen Pool , page = 16
11. The Silver Jubilee: , page = 17
12. God's Grandeur, page = 18
13. The Starlight Night, page = 18
14. Spring, page = 19
15. The Lantern out of Doors, page = 19
16. The Sea and the Skylark, page = 19
17. The Windhover: , page = 20
18. Pied Beauty, page = 20
19. Hurrahing in Harvest, page = 21
20. The Caged Skylark, page = 21
21. In the Valley of the Elwy, page = 22
22. The Loss of the Eurydice , page = 22
23. The May Magnificat, page = 26
24. Binsey Poplars , page = 27
25. Duns Scotus's Oxford, page = 28
26. Henry Purcell, page = 28
27. Peace, page = 29
28. The Bugler's First Communion, page = 29
29. Morning Midday and Evening Sacrifice, page = 31
30. Andromeda, page = 31
31. The Candle Indoors, page = 32
32. The Handsome Heart: , page = 32
33. At the Wedding March, page = 33
34. Felix Randal, page = 33
35. Brothers, page = 34
36. Spring and Fall: , page = 35
37. Spelt from Sibyl's Leaves, page = 35
38. Inversnaid, page = 36
39. AS kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies dráw fláme;, page = 36
40. Ribblesdale, page = 37
41. The Leaden Echo and the Golden Echo , page = 37
42. The Blessed Virgin compared to the Air we Breathe, page = 39
43. To what serves Mortal Beauty?, page = 41
44. (The Soldier), page = 42
45. (Carrion Comfort), page = 42
46. NO worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief,, page = 43
47. Tom's Garland: , page = 43
48. Harry Ploughman, page = 44
49. TO seem the stranger lies my lot, my life, page = 44
50. I WAKE and feel the fell of dark, not day , page = 45
51. PATIENCE, hard thing! the hard thing but to pray, page = 45
52. MY own heart let me have more have pity on; let, page = 46
53. That Nature is a Heraclitean Fire and of the comfort of the Resurrection, page = 46
54. In honour of St. Alphonsus Rodriguez Laybrother of the Society of Jesus, page = 47
55. THOU art indeed just, Lord, if I contend, page = 48
56. To R. B., page = 48
57. Unfinished Poems Fragments, page = 49
58. Summa, page = 49
59. WHAT being in rank-old nature should earlier have that breath been, page = 49
60. On the Portrait of Two Beautiful Young People , page = 49
61. THE sea took pity: it interposed with doom:, page = 50
62. (Ash-boughs), page = 51
63. HOPE holds to Christ the mind's own mirror out, page = 52
64. St. Winefred's Well , page = 52
65. WHAT shall I do for the land that bred me,, page = 55
66. THE times are nightfall, look, their light grows less, page = 56
67. Cheery Beggar, page = 56
68. DENIS, whose motionable, alert, most vaulting wit, page = 57
69. THE furl of fresh-leaved dogrose down, page = 57
70. The Woodlark, page = 58
71. Moonrise, page = 59
72. REPEAT that, repeat, page = 59
73. On a piece of music, page = 60
74. 'THE child is father to the man.', page = 60
75. THE shepherd's brow, fronting forked lightning, owns, page = 60
76. To his Watch, page = 61
77. STRIKE, churl; hurl, cheerless wind, then; heltering hail, page = 61
78. Epithalamion, page = 61
79. THEE, God, I come from, to thee go, page = 63
80. TO him who ever thought with love of me, page = 64