Gerard Manley Hopkins

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

Gerard Manley Hopkins Poems

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

God's Grandeur

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 |&| 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

Read the full of God's Grandeur

A Vision of the Mermaids

Rowing, I reach'd a rock - the sea was low -
Which the tides cover in their overflow,
Marking the spot, when they have gurgled o'er,
With a thin floating veil of water hoar.
A mile astern lay the blue shores away;
And it was at the setting of the day.
Plum-purple was the west; but spikes of light
Spear'd open lustrous gashes, crimson-white;
(Where the eye fix'd, fled the encrimsoning spot,

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