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Gerard Manley Hopkins - That Nature Is A Heraclitean Fire And Of The Comfort Of The Resurrection
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Cloud-puffball, torn tufts, tossed pillows ` flaunt forth, then chevy on an air-
built thoroughfare: heaven-roysterers, in gay-gangs ` they throng; they glitter in marches.
Down roughcast, down dazzling whitewash, ` wherever an elm arches,
Shivelights and shadowtackle in long ` lashes lace, lance, and pair.
Delightfully the bright wind boisterous ` ropes, wrestles, beats earth bare
Of yestertempest`s creases; in pool and rut peel parches
Squandering ooze to squeezed ` dough, crust, dust; stanches, starches
Squadroned masks and manmarks ` treadmire toil there
Footfretted in it. Million-fuelèd, ` nature`s bonfire burns on.
But quench her bonniest, dearest ` to her, her clearest-selvèd 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
                Is any of him at all so stark
But vastness blurs and time ` beats level. Enough! the Resurrection,
A heart`s-clarion! Away grief`s gasping, ` joyless days, dejection.
                Across my foundering deck shone
A beacon, an eternal beam. ` Flesh fade, and mortal trash
Fall to the residuary worm; ` world`s wildfire, leave but ash:
                In a flash, at a trumpet crash,
I am all at once what Christ is, ` since he was what I am, and
This Jack, joke, poor potsherd, ` patch, matchwood, immortal diamond,
                Is immortal diamond.
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