Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844–1889). Wessex Poems and Other Verses. 1918.

Index of First Lines

A buglar boy from barrack—it is over the hill

As a dare-gale skylark scanted in a dull cage

As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies dráw fláme

Best ideal is the true, The

Beyond Mágdalen and by the Bridge

But tell me, child, your choice; what shall I buy

Child is father to the man, The

Cloud-puffball, torn tufts, tossed pillows

Dappled die-away, The

Denis, whose motionable, alert, most vaulting wit

Earnest, earthless, equal, attuneable

Earth, sweet Earth, sweet landscape, with leavés throng

Elected Silence, sing to me

Eurydice—it concerned thee, O Lord, The

Felix Randal the farrier, O he is dead then? my duty all ended

Fine delight that fathers thought; the strong, The

Furl of fresh-leaved dogrose down, The

Glory be to God for dappled things

God with honour hang your head

Hard as hurdle arms, with a broth of goldish flue

Hark, hearer, hear what I do; lend a thought now, make believe

Have, fair fallen, O fair, fair have fallen, so dear

Honour is flashed off exploit, so we say

Hope holds to Christ the mind’s own mirror out

How all ’s to one thing wrought!

How lovely the elder brother’s

How to kéep—is there ány any

I awoke in the Midsummer not to call night

I bear a basket lined with grass

I caught this morning morning’s minion

I have desired to go

I remember a house where all were good

I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day

Look at the stars! look, look up at the skies!

Márgaré,t áre you gríeving

May is Mary’s month, and I

Mortal my mate, bearing my rock-a-heart

My aspens dear, whose airy cages quelled

My own heart let me have more have pity on

Nothing is so beautiful as spring

Not, I’ll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee

Not of all my eyes see, wandering on the world

No worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief

Now Time’s Andromeda on this rock rude

O I admire and sorrow! The heart’s eye grieves

On ear and ear two noises too old to end

Patience, hard thing! the hard thing but to pray

Repeat that, repeat

Sea took pity: it interposed with doo, The

Shepherd’s brow, fronting forked lightning, owns, The

Some candle clear burns somewhere I come by

Sometimes a lantern moves along the night

Strike, churl; hurl, cheerless wind, then; heltering hail

Summer ends now; now, barbarous in beauty, the stooks arise

Teevo cheevo cheevio chee

Thee, God, I come from, to thee go

This darksome burn, horseback brown

Thou art indeed just, Lord, if I contend

Though no high-hung bells or din

Thou mastering me

Times are nightfall, look, their light grows less, The

To him who ever thought with love of me

Tom—garlanded with squat and surly steel

To seem the stranger lies my lot, my life

Towery city and branchy between towers

To what serves mortal beauty

What being in rank-old nature should earlier have that breath been

What is it, Gwen, my girl? why do you hover and haunt me?

What shall I do for the land that bred me

When will you ever, Peace, wild wooddove, shy wings shut

Who long for rest, who look for pleasure

Wild air, world-mothering air

World is charged with the grandeur of God, The

Yes. Why do we áll, seeing of a soldier, bless him?