Gerard Manley Hopkins: Все стихи поэта

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The Candle Indoors

Some candle clear burns somewhere I come by.

I muse at how its being puts blissful back

With yellowy moisture mild night's blear-all black,

Or to-fro tender trambeams truckle at the eye.

By that window what task what fingers ply,

I plod wondering, a-wanting, just for lack

Of answer the eagerer a-wanting Jessy or Jack

There God to aggrándise, God to glorify.—

by Gerard Manley Hopkins

Patience, Hard Thing! The Hard Thing But To Pray

Patience, hard thing! the hard thing but to pray,

But bid for, Patience is! Patience who asks

Wants war, wants wounds; weary his times, his tasks;

To do without, take tosses, and obey.

Rare patience roots in these, and, these away,

Nowhere. Natural heart's ivy, Patience masks

Our ruins of wrecked past purpose. There she basks

Purple eyes and seas of liquid leaves all day.

by Gerard Manley Hopkins

To Seem The Stranger Lies My Lot, My Life

To seem the stranger lies my lot, my life

Among strangers. Father and mother dear,

Brothers and sisters are in Christ not near

And he my peace my parting, sword and strife.

England, whose honour O all my heart woos, wife

To my creating thought, would neither hear

Me, were I pleading, plead nor do I: I wear-

y of idle a being but by where wars are rife.

by Gerard Manley Hopkins

On the Portrait of Two Beautiful Young People

A Brother and Sister

O I admire and sorrow! The heart’s eye grieves

Discovering you, dark tramplers, tyrant years.

A juice rides rich through bluebells, in vine leaves,

And beauty’s dearest veriest vein is tears.

by Gerard Manley Hopkins

Tom's Garland: Upon the Unemployed

Tom—garlanded with squat and surly steel

Tom; then Tom's fallowbootfellow piles pick

By him and rips out rockfire homeforth—sturdy Dick;

Tom Heart-at-ease, Tom Navvy: he is all for his meal

Sure, 's bed now. Low be it: lustily he his low lot (feel

That ne'er need hunger, Tom; Tom seldom sick,

Seldomer heartsore; that treads through, prickproof, thick

Thousands of thorns, thoughts) swings though. Commonweal

by Gerard Manley Hopkins

The Habit Of Perfection

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.

Shape nothing, lips; be lovely-dumb:

It is the shut, the curfew sent

From there where all surrenders come

Which only makes you eloquent.

by Gerard Manley Hopkins

The May Magnificat

May is Mary's month, and I

Muse at that and wonder why:

Her feasts follow reason,

Dated due to season-

Candlemas, Lady Day;

But the Lady Month, May,

Why fasten that upon her,

With a feasting in her honour?

by Gerard Manley Hopkins

Thou Art Indeed Just

Justus quidem tu es, Domine, si disputem tecum; verumtamen justa loquar ad

te: quare via impiorum prosperatur? |&c.| (Jerem. xii 1.)

Thou art indeed just, Lord, if I contend

With thee; but, sir, so what I plead is just.

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

by Gerard Manley Hopkins

That Nature Is A Heraclitean Fire And Of The Comfort Of The Resurrection

Cloud-puffball, torn tufts, tossed pillows ' flaunt forth, then chevy on an air-

built thoroughfare: heaven-roysterers, in gay-gangs ' they throng; they glitter in marches.

Down roughcast, down dazzling whitewash, ' wherever an elm arches,

Shivelights and shadowtackle in long ' lashes lace, lance, and pair.

Delightfully the bright wind boisterous ' ropes, wrestles, beats earth bare

Of yestertempest's creases; in pool and rut peel parches

Squandering ooze to squeezed ' dough, crust, dust; stanches, starches

Squadroned masks and manmarks ' treadmire toil there

by Gerard Manley Hopkins

Morning Midday And Evening Sacrifice

The dappled die-away

Cheek and wimpled lip,

The gold-wisp, the airy-grey

Eye, all in fellowship—

This, all this beauty blooming,

This, all this freshness fuming,

Give God while worth consuming.

Both thought and thew now bolder

by Gerard Manley Hopkins

Henry Purcell

The poet wishes well to the divine genius of Purcell

and praises him that, whereas other musicians have

given utterance to the moods of man's mind, he has,

beyond that, uttered in notes the very make and

species of man as created both in him and in all men

generally.

Have, fair fallen, O fair, fair have fallen, so dear

To me, so arch-especial a spirit as heaves in Henry Purcell,

by Gerard Manley Hopkins

Thou Art Indeed Just, Lord

Justus quidem tu es, Domine, si disputem tecum; verumtamen justa loquar ad te: quare via impiorum prosperatur?

Thou art indeed just, Lord, if I contend

With thee; but, sir, so what I plead is just.

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? Oh, the sots and thralls of lust

by Gerard Manley Hopkins