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Let Him easter in us, be a dayspring to the dimness of us, be a crimson-cresseted east.

Gerard Manley Hopkins

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Gerard Manley Hopkins
Age: 45 †
Born: 1844
Born: June 28
Died: 1889
Died: July 8
Poet
Writer
London
England
Hopkins
Dimness
Crimson
Easter
East

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Searching nature I taste self but at one tankard, that of my own being.
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I hold with the old-fashioned criticism that Browning is not really a poet, that he has all the gifts but the one needful and the pearls without the string rather one should say raw nuggets and rough diamonds.
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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.
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Religion, you know, enters very deep in reality it is the deepest impression I have in speaking to people, that they are or that they are not of my religion.
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I awoke in the Midsummer not-to-call night, in the white and the walk of the morning
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Beauty is a relation, and the apprehension of it a comparison.
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God?is so great that all things give him glory if you mean they should.
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Natural heart's ivy, Patience masks Our ruins of wrecked past purpose.
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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.
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Birds buildbut 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.
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Summer ends now now, barbarous in beauty, the Stooks arise Around up above, what wind-walks! what lovely behavior Of silk-sack clouds! Has wilder, willful-waiver Meal-drift molded ever and melted across skies?
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That piecemeal peace is poor peace. What pure peace allows Alarms of wars, the daunting wars, the death of it?
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I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day. What hours, O what black hours we have spent This night!
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I thought how sadly beauty of inscape was unknown and buried away from simple people and yet how near at hand it was if they had eyes to see it and it could be called out everywhere again.
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The effect of studying masterpieces is to make me admire and do otherwise.
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Do you know, a horrible thing has happened to me. I have begun to doubt Tennyson.
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