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National Poetry Month: Gerard Manley Hopkins
In honor of National Poetry Month:
I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day.
What hours, O what black hours we have spent
This night! what sights you, heart, saw; ways you went!
And more must, in yet longer light’ 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 degree
Bitter would have me taste: my taste was me;
Bones built in me, flash filled, blood brimmed the curse.
Selfyeast of spirit a dull dough sours. I see
The lsot are like this, and their scourge to be
As I am mine, their sweating selves; but worse.— Gerard Manley Hopkins
— michael | April 27, 2007 04:18 PM | Reading rants & raves
