Gerard Manley Hopkins Quotes to Learn
Spring
Nothing is so beautiful as Spring
The glassy peartree leaves and blooms, they brush
The descending blue; that blue is all in a rush
The Windhover
I caught this morning morning’s minion, king-
dom of daylight’s dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding
Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here
Buckle!
Felix Randal
This seeing the sick endears them to us, us too it endears.
My tongue had taught thee comfort, touch had quenched thy tears,
Thy tears that touched my heart, child, Felix, poor Felix Randal;
Inversnaid
This darksome burn, horseback brown,
His rollrock highroad roaring down,
A windpuff-bonnet of fawn-froth
Turns and twindles over the broth
I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day
And my lament
Is cries countless, cries like dead letters sent
To dearest him that lives alas! away.
I am gall, I am heartburn.
No worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief.
Comforter, where, where is your comforting?
Mary, mother of us, where is your relief?
Here! creep,
Wretch, under a comfort serves in a whirlwind: all
Life death does end and each day dies with sleep.
Thou art indeed just, Lord, if I contend
Why do sinners’ ways prosper? and why must
Disappointment all I endeavour end?
Wert thou my enemy, O thou my friend,
How wouldst thou worse, I wonder, than thou dost
Defeat, thwart me?
Nothing is so beautiful as Spring
The glassy peartree leaves and blooms, they brush
The descending blue; that blue is all in a rush
The Windhover
I caught this morning morning’s minion, king-
dom of daylight’s dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding
Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here
Buckle!
Felix Randal
This seeing the sick endears them to us, us too it endears.
My tongue had taught thee comfort, touch had quenched thy tears,
Thy tears that touched my heart, child, Felix, poor Felix Randal;
Inversnaid
This darksome burn, horseback brown,
His rollrock highroad roaring down,
A windpuff-bonnet of fawn-froth
Turns and twindles over the broth
I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day
And my lament
Is cries countless, cries like dead letters sent
To dearest him that lives alas! away.
I am gall, I am heartburn.
No worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief.
Comforter, where, where is your comforting?
Mary, mother of us, where is your relief?
Here! creep,
Wretch, under a comfort serves in a whirlwind: all
Life death does end and each day dies with sleep.
Thou art indeed just, Lord, if I contend
Why do sinners’ ways prosper? and why must
Disappointment all I endeavour end?
Wert thou my enemy, O thou my friend,
How wouldst thou worse, I wonder, than thou dost
Defeat, thwart me?
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