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Nothing is so beautiful as spring- When weeds in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush.

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
Weed
Wheels
Shoot
Thrush
Lovely
Lush
Spring
Hopkins
Beautiful
Timber
Nothing
Weeds
Long
Springtime

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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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I have desired to go Where springs not fail, To fields where flies no sharp and sided hail And a few lilies blow.
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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.
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Do you know, a horrible thing has happened to me. I have begun to doubt Tennyson.
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Horrible to say, in a manner I am a Communist.
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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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Natural heart's ivy, Patience masks Our ruins of wrecked past purpose.
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Your personal boundaries protect the inner core of your identity and your right to choices.
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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.
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All things therefore are charged with love, are charged with God and if we knew how to touch them give off sparks and take fire, yield drops and flow, ring and tell of him.
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To lift up the hands in prayer gives God glory, but a man with a dungfork in his hand, a woman with a slop pail, give Him glory, too. God is so great that all things give Him glory if you mean that they should.
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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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And the headbonny 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.
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Our Lord Jesus Christ , my brethren, is our hero, a hero all the world wants.
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Life death all does end and each day dies with sleep.
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For myself I make no secret, I look forward with eager desire to seeing the matchless beauty of Christ's body in the heavenly light.
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