Author: Gerard Manley Hopkins

As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies draw flame; As tumbled over rim in roundy wells Stones ring; like each tucked string […]

I caught this morning morning’s minion, king- dom of daylight’s dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding Of the rolling level […]

How lovely the elder brother’s Life all laced in the other’s, Lóve-laced!-what once I well Witnessed; so fortune fell. When […]

My prayers must meet a brazen heaven And fail and scatter all away. Unclean and seeming unforgiven My prayers I […]

May is Mary’s month, and I Muse at that and wonder why: Her feasts follow reason, Dated due to season- […]

What shall I do for the land that bred me, Her homes and fields that folded and fed me?- Be […]

The fine delight that fathers thought; the strong Spur, live and lancing like the blowpipe flame, Breathes once and, quenchèd […]

Towery city and branchy between towers; Cuckoo-echoing, bell-swarmèd, lark-charmèd, rook-racked, river-rounded; The dapple-eared lily below thee; that country and town […]

To what serves mortal beauty ‘-dangerous; does set danc- Ing blood-the O-seal-that-so ‘ feature, flung prouder form Than Purcell tune […]

Repeat that, repeat, Cuckoo, bird, and open ear wells, heart-springs, delightfully sweet, With a ballad, with a ballad, a rebound […]

Sometimes a lantern moves along the night, That interests our eyes. And who goes there? I think; where from and […]

The poet wishes well to the divine genius of Purcell and praises him that, whereas other musicians have given utterance […]

I have desired to go Where springs not fail, To fields where flies no sharp and sided hail And a […]

Some candle clear burns somewhere I come by. I muse at how its being puts blissful back With yellowy moisture […]

He play’d his wings as tho’ for flight; They webb’d the sky with glassy light. His body sway’d upon tiptoes, […]

. . . . . . . . Hope holds to Christ the mind’s own mirror out To take His […]

ACT I. SC. I Enter Teryth from riding, Winefred following. T. WHAT is it, Gwen, my girl? why do you […]

‘The child is father to the man.’ How can he be? The words are wild. Suck any sense from that […]

A buglar boy from barrack (it is over the hill There)-boy bugler, born, he tells me, of Irish Mother to […]

And he said, If the Lord do not help thee, whence shall I help thee? out of the barnfloor, or […]