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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?