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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?
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
Walks
Arise
Barbarous
Beauty
Lovely
Wilder
Clouds
Drift
Ends
Sky
Skies
Waiver
Around
Across
Silk
Willful
Ever
Summer
Meal
Molded
Behavior
September
Melted
Wind
Meals
Sack
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As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies draw flame
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The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
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No wonder of it: sheer plod makes plough down sillion Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear, Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermilion.
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The effect of studying masterpieces is to make me admire and do otherwise.
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My own heart let me 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.
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Nothing is so beautiful as spring- When weeds in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush.
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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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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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ELECTED Silence, sing to me And beat upon my whorlèd ear, Pipe me to pastures still and be The music that I care to hear.
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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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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 lightning to hear him sing.
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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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I do not write for the public. You are my public and I hope to convert you.
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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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For I think it is the case with genius that it is not when quiescent so very much above mediocrity as the difference between the two might lead us to think, but that it has the power and privilege of rising from that level to a height utterly far from mediocrity: in other words that its greatness is that it can be so great.
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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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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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Do you know, a horrible thing has happened to me. I have begun to doubt Tennyson.
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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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