All Poems
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The Habit Of Perfection
© Gerard Manley Hopkins
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.
As Kingfishers Catch Fire
© Gerard Manley Hopkins
I say more: the just man justices;
Keeps grace: that keeps all his goings graces;
Acts in God's eye what in God's eye he is
Christ. 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.
The Blessed Virgin Compared To The Air We Breathe
© Gerard Manley Hopkins
Wild air, world-mothering air,
Nestling me everywhere,
That each eyelash or hair
Girdles; goes home betwixt
The Windhover: To Christ Our Lord
© Gerard Manley Hopkins
Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here
Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion
Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier!
The Half-way House
© Gerard Manley Hopkins
Love I was shewn upon the mountain-side
And bid to catch Him ere the dropp of day.
See, Love, I creep and Thou on wings dost ride:
Love it is evening now and Thou away;
Love, it grows darker here and Thou art above;
Love, come down to me if Thy name be Love.
The Wreck Of The Deutschland
© Gerard Manley Hopkins
To the
happy memory of five Franciscan Nuns
exiles by the Falk Laws
drowned between midnight and morning of
Dec. 7th. 1875
The Soldier
© Gerard Manley Hopkins
Mark Christ our King. He knows war, served this soldiering through;
He of all can handle a rope best. There he bides in bliss
Now, and s?eing somewh?re some m?n do all that man can do,
For love he leans forth, needs his neck must fall on, kiss,
And cry 'O Christ-done deed! So God-made-flesh does too:
Were I come o'er again' cries Christ 'it should be this'.
I Wake And Feel The Fell Of Dark, Not Day
© Gerard Manley Hopkins
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's delay.
Binsey Poplars
© Gerard Manley Hopkins
felled 1879
My aspens dear, whose airy cages quelled,
Quelled or quenched in leaves the leaping sun,
All felled, felled, are all felled;
Heaven--Haven: A Nun Takes The Veil
© Gerard Manley Hopkins
I have desired to go
Where springs not fail,
To fields where flies no sharp and sided hail
And a few lilies blow.
Peace
© Gerard Manley Hopkins
When will you ever, Peace, wild wooddove, shy wings shut,
Your round me roaming end, and under be my boughs?
When, when, Peace, will you, Peace? I'll not play hypocrite
To own my heart: I yield you do come sometimes; but
That piecemeal peace is poor peace. What pure peace allows
Alarms of wars, the daunting wars, the death of it?
Spring
© Gerard Manley Hopkins
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
Repeat That, Repeat
© Gerard Manley Hopkins
Repeat that, repeat,
Cuckoo, bird, and open ear wells, heart-springs, delightfully sweet,
With a ballad, with a ballad, a rebound
Off trundled timber and scoops of the hillside ground, hollow hollow hollow ground:
The whole landscape flushes on a sudden at a sound.
Spring & Fall: To A Young Child
© Gerard Manley Hopkins
Margaret, are you grieving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leaves, like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
God's Grandeur
© Gerard Manley Hopkins
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. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Pied Beauty
© Gerard Manley Hopkins
Glory be to God for dappled things
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches' wings;
Landscape plotted and piecedfold, fallow, and plough;
And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim.
The Child Is Father To The Man
© Gerard Manley Hopkins
'The child is father to the man.'
How can he be? The words are wild.
Suck any sense from that who can:
'The child is father to the man.'
Another Sarah
© Katherine Anne Porter
In May you will become
A wave of living sweetness
A nation of white petals
A dynasty of apples."
Came the Great Popinjay
© Dame Edith Sitwell
CAME the great Popinjay
Smelling his nosegay:
In cages like grots
The birds sang gavottes.
The Fan
© Dame Edith Sitwell
LOVELY Semiramis
Closes her slanting eyes:
Dead is she long ago.
From her fan, sliding slow,
