Tuesday, February 4, 2014


Oh Hopkins, how you heave here-there-and-everywhere
rich rolling sound, sprung round rhyme, for a time
man's moments mix with joy and Jesu Christi
on your page, and God stands out,
cut iconic and immense astride his world,
nature naked, fresh, unfurled, the way Adam
first saw Eve, unblushing both in dawn of day.

Oh Hopkins, yet you would not, could not bear
to hide humiliated, half-clad mans from Maker's gaze,
in days of sin and judgment still you sang,
a rough and hardened clang, is sword-and-scabbard?
Hammer-anvil? or the scrape and crack, souls wracked,
shipwrecks, the decks of dearest death and drowned devotion,
sickening to see, much less to sing; yet lays you made
which loft and thrill, which humble still,
which laud Purcell, the virgin Mary and your friends,
life's ends in God; life ends in God, farewell.

No comments: