Not, I’ll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee;
Not untwist—slack they may be—these last strands of man
In me ?r, 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 wouldst thou rude on me
Thy wring-world right foot rock? lay a lionlimb against me? scan
With darksome devouring eyes my bruis?d 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, ch?er.
Cheer whom though? the hero whose heaven-handling flung me, f?ot tr?d
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.
***
Poems by Gerard Manley Hopkins
![Gerald Manley Hopkins](https://www.poetry.monster/wp-content/uploads/gerardmanlyhopkins2-100x100.png)
Gerard Manley Hopkins is one of the most important poets of the Victorian era. A convert to Roman Catholicism, he served as a Jesuit priest and is remembered for his innovative and interesting verse. Most of his work was unpublished, hence unknown and unappreciated, in his own lifetime, so the literary fame came to Hopkins posthumously.