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A poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins |
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That Nature Is A Heraclitean Fire And Of The Comfort Of The Resurrection |
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Title: That Nature Is A Heraclitean Fire And Of The Comfort Of The Resurrection Author: Gerard Manley Hopkins [More Titles by Hopkins] CLOUD-PUFFBALL, torn tufts, tossed pillows | flaunt forth, then built thoroughfare: heaven-roysterers, in gay-gangs | they throng; Down roughcast, down dazzling whitewash, | wherever an elm Shivelights and shadowtackle in long | lashes lace, lance, and pair. Delightfully the bright wind boisterous | ropes, wrestles, beats Of yestertempest's creases; in pool and rut peel parches Squandering ooze to squeezed | dough, crust, dust; stanches, Squadroned masks and manmarks | treadmire toil there Footfretted in it. Million-fueled, | nature's bonfire burns on. But quench her bonniest, dearest | to her, her clearest-selved spark Man, how fast his firedint, | his mark on mind, is gone! Both are in an unfathomable, all is in an enormous dark Drowned. O pity and indig | nation! Manshape, that shone Sheer off, disseveral, a star, | death blots black out; nor mark But vastness blurs and time | beats level. Enough! the Resur- A heart's-clarion! Away grief's gasping, | joyless days, dejection. A beacon, an eternal beam. | Flesh fade, and mortal trash Fall to the residuary worm; | world's wildfire, leave but ash: I am all at once what Christ is, | since he was what I am, and This Jack, joke, poor potsherd, | patch, matchwood, immortal Is immortal diamond. [The end] GO TO TOP OF SCREEN |