Gerard Manley Hopkins

(28 July 1844 – 8 June 1889 / Stratford, Essex)

Gerard Manley Hopkins Poems

41. Spring And Fall: To A Young Child 1/20/2003
42. St. Alphonsus Rodriguez 1/3/2003
43. St. Winefred's Well 1/3/2003
44. Strike, Churl 1/3/2003
45. Summa 1/3/2003
46. The Alchemist In The City 11/25/2003
47. The Blessed Virgin Compared To The Air We Breathe 1/3/2003
48. The Bugler's First Communion 1/3/2003
49. The Caged Skylark 12/31/2002
50. The Candle Indoors 1/3/2003
51. The Furl Of Fresh-Leaved Dogrose Down 1/3/2003
52. The Habit Of Perfection 1/3/2003
53. The Half-Way House 11/25/2003
54. The Handsome Heart 1/3/2003
55. The Lantern Out Of Doors 1/3/2003
56. The Leaden Echo And The Golden Echo 1/3/2003
57. The Loss Of The Eurydice 1/3/2003
58. The May Magnificat 1/3/2003
59. The Sea And The Skylark 1/3/2003
60. The Sea Took Pity 1/3/2003
61. The Shepherd’s Brow, Fronting Forked Lightning, Owns 1/3/2003
62. The Silver Jubilee 1/3/2003
63. The Soldier 1/3/2003
64. The Starlight Night 12/31/2002
65. The Times Are Nightfall 1/3/2003
66. The Windhover 12/31/2002
67. The Woodlark 1/3/2003
68. The Wreck Of The Deutschland 12/31/2002
69. Thee, God, I Come From 1/3/2003
70. Thou Art Indeed Just, Lord, If I Contend 1/13/2003
71. To A Young Child 1/3/2003
72. To Him Who Ever Thought With Love Of Me 1/3/2003
73. To His Watch 1/3/2003
74. To R.B. 1/3/2003
75. To Seem The Stranger Lies My Lot, My Life 1/13/2003
76. To What Serves Mortal Beauty? 1/3/2003
77. Tom's Garland 1/3/2003
78. What Being In Rank-Old Nature 1/3/2003
79. What Shall I Do For The Land That Bred Me 1/3/2003
Best Poem of Gerard Manley Hopkins

Heaven-Haven

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 sea.

Read the full of Heaven-Haven

The Lantern Out Of Doors

Sometimes a lantern moves along the night,
That interests our eyes. And who goes there?
I think; where from and bound, I wonder, where,
With, all down darkness wide, his wading light?

Men go by me whom either beauty bright
In mould or mind or what not else makes rare:
They rain against our much-thick and marsh air
Rich beams, till death or distance buys them quite.

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