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I awoke in the Midsummer not-to-call night, in the white and the walk of the morning

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
Awoke
Midsummer
Walk
Walks
Morning
Call
White
Night

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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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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?
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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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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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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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Every true poet, I thought, must be original and originality a condition of poetic genius so that each poet is like a species in nature (not an individuum genericum or specificum ) and can never recur. That nothing shd. be old or borrowed however cannot be.
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Crystal sincerity hath found no shelter but in a fool's cap.
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As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies draw flame
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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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When I compare myself, my being-myself, with anything else whatever, all things alike, all in the same degree, rebuff me with blank unlikeness.
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Nothing is so beautiful as spring- When weeds in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush.
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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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That piecemeal peace is poor peace. What pure peace allows Alarms of wars, the daunting wars, the death of it?
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