But . . . I may as well say what I should not otherwise have said, that I always knew in my heart Walt Whitmanโs mind to be more like my own than any other manโs living. As he is a very great scoundrel this is not a pleasant confession.
Gerard Manley HopkinsAnd 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 Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springsโ Because the Holy Ghost over the bent World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.
Gerard Manley HopkinsNOT, Iโll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee; Not untwistโslack they may beโthese last strands of man In me รณr, most weary, cry I can no more. I can; Can something, hope, wish day come, not choose not to be.
Gerard Manley HopkinsNothing is so beautiful as spring- When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush; Thrush's eggs look little low heavens, and thrush Through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring The ear, it strikes like lightnings to hear him sing; The glassy peartree leaves and blooms, they brush The descending blue; that blue is all in a rush With richness; the racing lambs too have fair their fling. What is all this juice and all this joy? A strain of the earth's sweet being in the beginning In Eden garden.-Have, get, before it cloy.
Gerard Manley Hopkins