hesadevil (hesadevil) wrote,

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Thank goodness for sunshine

The sun finally decided to show itself in old Blighty today. Which is just as well as I had been revisiting the poetry of my youth earlier this morning. Boy did GM Hopkins know what he was talking about.

Carrion Comfort

No, I’ll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee;
Not untwist – slack they may be – these last strands of man
In me, or, most weary, cry ‘I can no more’ I can ;
Can something, hope, wish day come, not choose not to be.
But, ah, but o thou terrible, why would’st thou rude on me
Thy wring-world right foot rock? Lay a lionlimb against me? Scan
With darksome devouring eyes my bruised bones? And fan,
O in turns of tempest, me heaped there, me frantic to avoid thee and flee?

Why? that my chaff might fly: my grain lie sheer and clear.
Nay in all that toil, that coil, since (seems) I kissed the rod,
Hand rather, my heart lo! Lapped strength, stole joy, would laugh, cheer
Cheer whom though? The hero whose heaven-handling flung me, foot trod
Me? Or me that fought him? O which one? Is it each one?
That night, that year
Of now done darkness I wretch lay wrestling with (My God!)
My God.

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