Gerard Manley Hopkins

(28 July 1844 – 8 June 1889 / Stratford, Essex)

Gerard Manley Hopkins Poems

1. It Was A Hard Thing To Undo This Knot 6/25/2015
2. A Vision of the Mermaids 11/13/2015
3. Tom's Garland 1/3/2003
4. Strike, Churl 1/3/2003
5. The Silver Jubilee 1/3/2003
6. St. Alphonsus Rodriguez 1/3/2003
7. The Shepherd’s Brow, Fronting Forked Lightning, Owns 1/3/2003
8. The May Magnificat 1/3/2003
9. Penmaen Pool 1/3/2003
10. The Furl Of Fresh-Leaved Dogrose Down 1/3/2003
11. St. Winefred's Well 1/3/2003
12. Ribblesdale 1/3/2003
13. The Loss Of The Eurydice 1/3/2003
14. The Bugler's First Communion 1/3/2003
15. To His Watch 1/3/2003
16. Patience, Hard Thing! The Hard Thing But To Pray 1/13/2003
17. The Half-Way House 11/25/2003
18. The Sea Took Pity 1/3/2003
19. Summa 1/3/2003
20. The Handsome Heart 1/3/2003
21. What Being In Rank-Old Nature 1/3/2003
22. To R.B. 1/3/2003
23. Spelt From Sibyl's Leaves 1/3/2003
24. To Him Who Ever Thought With Love Of Me 1/3/2003
25. My Own Heart Let Me Have More Have Pity On; Let 1/13/2003
26. In Honour Of St. Alphonsus Rodriguez 1/13/2003
27. Repeat That, Repeat 1/3/2003
28. On The Portrait Of Two Beautiful Young People 1/3/2003
29. What Shall I Do For The Land That Bred Me 1/3/2003
30. The Woodlark 1/3/2003
31. The Lantern Out Of Doors 1/3/2003
32. To Seem The Stranger Lies My Lot, My Life 1/13/2003
33. In The Valley Of The Elwy 1/3/2003
34. The Caged Skylark 12/31/2002
35. The Sea And The Skylark 1/3/2003
36. May Magnificat 1/13/2003
37. The Soldier 1/3/2003
38. The Candle Indoors 1/3/2003
39. Barnfloor And Winepress 11/25/2003
40. The Leaden Echo And The Golden Echo 1/3/2003
Best Poem of Gerard Manley Hopkins

God's Grandeur

The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man's smudge |&| shares man's smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.

And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went

Read the full of God's Grandeur

A Vision of the Mermaids

Rowing, I reach'd a rock - the sea was low -
Which the tides cover in their overflow,
Marking the spot, when they have gurgled o'er,
With a thin floating veil of water hoar.
A mile astern lay the blue shores away;
And it was at the setting of the day.
Plum-purple was the west; but spikes of light
Spear'd open lustrous gashes, crimson-white;
(Where the eye fix'd, fled the encrimsoning spot,

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