Gerard Manley Hopkins

Gerard Manley Hopkins

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Gerard Manley Hopkins SJ (28 July 1844 – 8 June 1889) was an English poet and Jesuit priest, whose posthumous fame established him among the leading Victorian poets. His manipulation of prosody – particularly his concept of sprung rhythm – established him as an innovative writer of verse, as did his technique of praising God through vivid use of imagery and nature.
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Inversnaid

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This darksome burn, horseback brown,
His rollrock highroad roaring down,
In coop and in comb the fleece of his
Flutes and low to the lake falls home
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Morning Midday And Evening Sacrifice

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The dappled
Cheek and wimpled lip,
The gold-wisp, the
Eye, all in fellowship—This, all this beauty blooming,
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The Habit Of Perfection

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Elected Silence, sing to
And beat upon my whorlèd ear,
Pipe me to pastures still and
The music that I care to hear
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The Windhover

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I caught this morning morning's minion, king- dom of daylight's dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and
High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling
In his ecstasy
...
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In The Valley Of The Elwy

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I remember a house where all were good To me,
God knows, deserving no such thing: Comforting smell breathed at very entering,
Fetched fresh, as I suppose, off some sweet wood
That cordial air made those kind people a hood All over, ...
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Heaven--Haven A Nun Takes The Veil

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I have desired to go Where springs not fail,
To fields where flies no sharp and sided hail And a few lilies blow
And I have asked to be Where no storms come,
Where the green swell is in the havens dumb, And out of the swing of the s...
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To R B

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The fine delight that fathers thought; the
Spur, live and lancing like the blowpipe flame,
Breathes once and, quenchèd faster than it came,
Leaves yet the mind a mother of immortal song
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Moonrise

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I awoke in the Midsummer not to call night, in the white and the walk of the morning:
The moon, dwindled and thinned to the fringe of a finger-nail held to the candle,
Or paring of paradisaical fruit, lovely in waning but lustreless,
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Pied Beauty

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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 pieced — fold, fallow, and plough; And ...
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Patience Hard Thing! The Hard Thing But To Pray

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Patience, hard thing
the hard thing but to pray,
But bid for,
Patience is
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No Worst There Is None Pitched Past Pitch Of Grief

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No worst, there is none
Pitched past pitch of grief,
More pangs will, schooled at forepangs, wilder wring
Comforter, where, where is your comforting
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The Caged Skylark

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As a dare-gale skylark scanted in a dull cage, Man's mounting spirit in his bone-house, mean house, dwells — That bird beyond the remembering h{'i}s free fells;
This in drudgery, day-labouring-out life's age
Though aloft on turf or perch...
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The Candle Indoors

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Some candle clear burns somewhere I come by
I muse at how its being puts blissful
With yellowy moisture mild night's blear-all black,
Or to-fro tender trambeams truckle at the eye
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In Honour Of St Alphonsus Rodriguez

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Laybrother of the Society of
Honour is flashed off exploit, so we say;
And those strokes once that gashed flesh or galled
Should tongue that time now, trumpet now that field,
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Spring

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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 The ear, it strikes like lightnings to hear him si...
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I Wake And Feel The Fell Of Dark

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I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day
What hours,
O what black hours we have
This night
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