poet Francis Thompson

Francis Thompson

#252 on top 500 poets

The Hound Of Heaven

I fled Him down the nights and down the days
I fled Him down the arches of the years
I fled Him down the labyrinthine ways
Of my own mind, and in the midst of tears
I hid from him, and under running laughter.
Up vistaed hopes I sped and shot precipitated
Adown titanic glooms of chasme d hears
From those strong feet that followed, followed after
But with unhurrying chase and unperturbe d pace,
Deliberate speed, majestic instancy,
They beat, and a Voice beat,
More instant than the feet:
All things betray thee who betrayest me.

I pleaded, outlaw--wise by many a hearted casement,
curtained red, trellised with inter-twining charities,
For though I knew His love who followe d,
Yet was I sore adread, lest having Him,
I should have nought beside.
But if one little casement parted wide,
The gust of his approach would clash it to.
Fear wist not to evade as Love wist to pursue.
Across the margent of the world I fled,
And troubled the gold gateways of the stars,
Smiting for shelter on their clange d bars,
Fretted to dulcet jars and silvern chatter
The pale ports of the moon.

I said to Dawn --- be sudden, to Eve --- be soon,
With thy young skiey blossoms heap me over
From this tremendous Lover.
Float thy vague veil about me lest He see.
I tempted all His servitors but to find
My own betrayal in their constancy,
In faith to Him, their fickleness to me,
Their traitorous trueness and their loyal deceit.
To all swift things for swiftness did I sue,
Clung to the whistling mane of every wind,
But whether they swept, smoothly fleet,
The long savannahs of the blue,
Or whether, thunder-driven,
They clanged His chariot thwart a heaven,
Plashy with flying lightnings round the spurn of their feet,
Fear wist not to evade as Love wist to pursue.
Still with unhurrying chase and unperturbed pace
Deliberate speed, majestic instancy,
Came on the following feet, and a Voice above their beat:
Nought shelters thee who wilt not shelter Me.

I sought no more that after which I strayed
In face of Man or Maid.
But still within the little childrens' eyes
Seems something, something that replies,
They at least are for me, surely for me.
But just as their young eyes grew sudden fair,
With dawning answers there,
Their angel plucked them from me by the hair.
Come then, ye other children, Nature's
Share with me, said I, your delicate fellowship.
Let me greet you lip to lip,
Let me twine with you caresses,
Wantoning with our Lady Mother's vagrant tresses,
Banqueting with her in her wind walled palace,
Underneath her azured dai:s,
Quaffing, as your taintless way is,
From a chalice, lucent weeping out of the dayspring.

So it was done.
I in their delicate fellowship was one.
Drew the bolt of Nature's secrecies,
I knew all the swift importings on the wilful face of skies,
I knew how the clouds arise,
Spume d of the wild sea-snortings.
All that's born or dies,
Rose and drooped with,
Made them shapers of mine own moods, or wailful, or Divine.
With them joyed and was bereaven.
I was heavy with the Even,
when she lit her glimmering tapers round the day's dead sanctities.
I laughed in the morning's eyes.
I triumphed and I saddened with all weather,
Heaven and I wept together,
and its sweet tears were salt with mortal mine.
Against the red throb of its sunset heart,
I laid my own to beat
And share commingling heat.

But not by that, by that was eased my human smart.
In vain my tears were wet on Heaven's grey cheek.
For ah! we know what each other says,
these things and I; In sound I speak,
Their sound is but their stir, they speak by silences.
Nature, poor step-dame, cannot slake my drouth.
Let her, if she would owe me
Drop yon blue-bosomed veil of sky
And show me the breasts o' her tenderness.
Never did any milk of hers once bless my thirsting mouth.
Nigh and nigh draws the chase, with unperturbe d pace
Deliberate speed, majestic instancy,
And past those noise d feet, a Voice comes yet more fleet:
Lo, nought contentst thee who content'st nought Me.

Naked, I wait thy Love's uplifted stroke. My harness, piece by piece,
thou'st hewn from me
And smitten me to my knee,
I am defenceless, utterly.
I slept methinks, and awoke.
And slowly gazing, find me stripped in sleep.
In the rash lustihead of my young powers,
I shook the pillaring hours,
and pulled my life upon me.
Grimed with smears,
I stand amidst the dust o' the mounded years--
My mangled youth lies dead beneath the heap.
My days have crackled and gone up in smoke,
Have puffed and burst like sunstarts on a stream.
Yeah, faileth now even dream the dreamer
and the lute, the lutanist.
Even the linked fantasies in whose blossomy twist,
I swung the Earth, a trinket at my wrist,
Have yielded, cords of all too weak account,
For Earth, with heavy grief so overplussed.
Ah! is thy Love indeed a weed,
albeit an Amaranthine weed,
Suffering no flowers except its own to mount?
Ah! must, Designer Infinite,
Ah! must thou char the wood 'ere thou canst limn with it ?
My freshness spent its wavering shower i' the dust.
And now my heart is as a broken fount,
Wherein tear-drippings stagnate, spilt down ever
From the dank thoughts that shiver upon the sighful branches of my

Such is. What is to be ?
The pulp so bitter, how shall taste the rind ?
I dimly guess what Time in mists confounds,
Yet ever and anon, a trumpet sounds
From the hid battlements of Eternity.
Those shaken mists a space unsettle,
Then round the half-glimpse d turrets, slowly wash again.
But not 'ere Him who summoneth
I first have seen, enwound
With glooming robes purpureal; Cypress crowned.
His name I know, and what his trumpet saith.
Whether Man's Heart or Life it be that yield thee harvest,
Must thy harvest fields be dunged with rotten death ?

Now of that long pursuit,
Comes at hand the bruit.
That Voice is round me like a bursting Sea:
And is thy Earth so marred,
Shattered in shard on shard?
Lo, all things fly thee, for thou fliest me.
Strange, piteous, futile thing;
Wherefore should any set thee love apart?
Seeing none but I makes much of Naught (He said).
And human love needs human meriting ---
How hast thou merited,
Of all Man's clotted clay, the dingiest clot.
Alack! Thou knowest not
How little worthy of any love thou art.
Whom wilt thou find to love ignoble thee,
Save me, save only me?
All which I took from thee, I did'st but take,
Not for thy harms,
But just that thou might'st seek it in my arms.
All which thy childs mistake fancies as lost,
I have stored for thee at Home.
Rise, clasp my hand, and come.
Halts by me that Footfall.
Is my gloom, after all,
Shade of His hand, outstretched caressingly?
Ah, Fondest, Blindest, Weakest,
I am He whom thou seekest.
Thou dravest Love from thee who dravest Me.

Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003

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The Hound Of Heaven # 331 poem on top 500 Poems
3,7 out of 5
46 total ratings
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Comments about The Hound Of Heaven by Francis Thompson

  • the robot reader (10/8/2020 12:27:00 AM)

    let me out of here! ! !

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  • Marguerite Diane Browne (8/2/2020 2:46:00 PM)

    I finally found this poem, having done it in sixth form I read it again now and wonder if it was suitable for sixth form. (I was then in a British colonial country, Jamaica, so who knows) . However, in spite of now thinking that it might not have been suitable, I have remembered the title over all these years and that something from that poem became part of my philosophy of life. I'm in my seventies. The teacher must therefore have been very good. No, she was not British; she was Jamaican.

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  • Marie Allan (6/28/2020 7:16:00 AM)

    I love this poem and its themes. However the reading posted at the top is not very good at all. It doesn’t follow the syntax and doesn’t know how to read the words with stressed syllables. Should be removed.

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  • Nina Graham (5/15/2020)

    I thank you for the poem first of all I love the way he describe the mythfors of the poem

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  • the dog (2/16/2020 6:30:00 PM)

    not relevant and my teacher made me read this stupid bull

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  • Jim White (12/9/2019 12:54:00 PM)

    This is the story of the pursuit of Divine Love. It belongs to no one religion or belief. I believe there is a surrender that happens somewhere along the way and then " of that long pursuit, comes at hand the bruit" .
    I had this experience. All we see is made of the particles of love, and it's a love unlike any human love we normally know, no matter how powerful.

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  • Ann Logan (9/25/2018 9:43:00 AM)

    I have loved this poem for years. It makes me think of the 139th Psalm which I also love - maybe the best of all the Psalms. They remind me of Fulton Sheen's line, None of us was born with a complete heart. God kept a part of each of our hearts until.....we are reunited with him in eternity.

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  • Franklin (4/3/2018 6:04:00 PM)

    If the poet was talking about Jesus God Almighty, why didn't he mention His Name?

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    Jeff Craft(8/9/2019 10:03:00 AM)

    Wanted to make the reader think rather than smashing them over the head with it?

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  • Lynda Hickman (5/23/2016 6:33:00 AM)

    How is it that Thompson mentions a down Titanic when he died in 1907 but the Titanic didn't sink until 1912?

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    B Lassie(2/5/2018 2:31:00 PM)

    Notice that the word titanic is not capitalized. It is referring to something of exceptional power, strength, or size. It is not referring to the sailing vessel.

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  • Ray Subrata RayRay Subrata Ray (2/24/2014 12:00:00 PM)

    The Hound of Heaven is a poem on profound devotion and burning anguish.The vagabond poet is a psychic traveler in the abstract realm of God, and God realization is his only concern.With frantic poignancy the devotee in the poet seeks the 'deliberate speed' and reduces himself into an withering haggard.

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  • Josh LoweryJosh Lowery (7/2/2013 10:10:00 AM)

    I have found no greater poem in the English language than The Hound of Heaven by Francis Thompson.

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  • Olayinka Faderera Olayiwola (11/18/2011 9:00:00 AM)

    Francis Thompson 's greatness is no march for his fame

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  • John-paul Cosentino (12/1/2006 9:48:00 AM)

    the first stanza is not right...

    Adown titanic glooms of chasme d hears

    it should be
    'Adown Titanic glooms of chasmed fears, '...

    being so disturbed by the mistake i did not continue reading. therefore, theoretically speaking there might be more mistakes.

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    Jane Nevinger(1/15/2018 9:14:00 AM)

    Thank you for taking care of the mistake. Please read the entire poem, your astuteness will more than handle the unedited typing.

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