Quotes from Gerard Manley Hopkins

No one is ever so poor that he is not (without prejudice to all the rest of the world) owner of the skies and stars and everything wild that is to be found on the earth.

All the world is full of inscape and chance left free to act falls into an order as well as purpose.

After-comers cannot guess the beauty been.

I bear a basket lined with grass; I am so light, I am so fair, That men must wonder as I pass And at the basket that I bear, Where in a newly-drawn green litter Sweet flowers I carry, -- sweets for bitter. Lilies I shew you, lilies none, None in Caesar's gardens blow, -- And a quince in hand, -- not one Is set, because their buds not spring; Spring not, 'cause world is wintering....

Shéer plód makes plough down sillion Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear, Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermillion.

No, I'll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee

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.

Where we, even where we mean To mend her we end her, When we hew or delve: After-comers cannot guess the beauty been. Ten or twelve, only ten or twelve Strokes of havoc únselve The sweet especial scene, Rural scene, a rural scene, Sweet especial rural scene.

But ah, but O thou terrible, why wouldst thou rude on me Thy wring-earth right foot rock? lay a lionlimb against me? scan With darksome devouring eyes my bruised bones? and fan, O in turns of tempest, me heaped there; me frantic to avoid thee and flee? Why? That my chaff might fly; my grain lie, sheer and clear.

Be adored among men, God, three-numberéd form; Wring thy rebel, dogged in den, Man's malice, with wrecking and storm. Beyond saying sweet, past telling of tongue, Thou art lightning and love, I found it, a winter and warm; Father and fondler of heart thou hast wrung: Hast thy dark descending and most art merciful then.

Nothing is so beautiful as Spring- When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush; (from "Spring")

He lived on; these weeds and waters, these walls are what He haunted who of all men most sways my spirits to peace;

And I have asked to be Where no storms come

Thou mastering me God! giver of breath and bread; World's strand, sway of the sea; Lord of living and dead; Thou hast bound bones and veins in me, fastened me flesh, And after it almost unmade, what with dread, Thy doing: and dost thou touch me afresh? Over again I feel thy finger and find thee.

All things counter, original, spare, strange; Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?) With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim; He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change: Praise him.

I am soft sift 25 In an hourglass — at the wall Fast, but mined with a motion, a drift, And it crowds and it combs to the fall; I steady as a water in a well, to a poise, to a pane, But roped with, always, all the way down from the tall 30 Fells or flanks of the voel, a vein Of the gospel proffer, a pressure, a principle, Christ's gift.

O let them be left, wildness and wet

O if we but knew what to do When we delve or hew— Hack and rack the growing green! Since country is so tender To touch, her being só slender,

I cast for comfort I can no more get By groping round my comfortless than blind Eyes in their dark can day or thirst can find Thirst's all-in-all in all a world of wet.

To seem the stranger lies my lot, my life.

There lives the dearest freshness deep down things.

My heart, but you were dovewinged, I can tell, Carrier-witted, I am bold to boast...

All things counter, original, spare, strange...

I have asked to be Where no storms come