- 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? |
| Generations have trod, have trod, have trod; |
| And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil; |
| And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil |
| Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod. |
|
| 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.
Black Sand Beach - Kaikoura, New Zealand
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"There lives the dearest freshness deep down things"
ReplyDeleteI love this poem so much.
-Daniel