Poem of the week
From now on, I'll be posting a poem every Friday. I hope eventually to post some of my own, but for now I'll post other people's. And since I've been reading Gerard Manley Hopkins, you get some of him.
(If I let a Friday go by without poetry, feel free to hold me to my word :-) )
Inversnaid
This darksome burn, horseback brown,
His rollrock highroad roaring down,
In coop and in comb the fleece of his foam
Flutes and low to the lake falls home.
A windpuff-bonnet of fáwn-fróth
Turns and twindles over the broth
Of a pool so pitchblack, féll-frówning,
It rounds and rounds Despair to drowning.
Degged with dew, dappled with dew
Are the groins of the braes that the brook treads through,
Wiry heathpacks, flitches of fern,
And the beadbonny ash that sits over the burn.
What would the world be, once bereft
Of wet and of wildness? Let them be left,
O let them be left, wildness and wet;
Long live the weeds and the wilderness yet.
(If I let a Friday go by without poetry, feel free to hold me to my word :-) )
Inversnaid
This darksome burn, horseback brown,
His rollrock highroad roaring down,
In coop and in comb the fleece of his foam
Flutes and low to the lake falls home.
A windpuff-bonnet of fáwn-fróth
Turns and twindles over the broth
Of a pool so pitchblack, féll-frówning,
It rounds and rounds Despair to drowning.
Degged with dew, dappled with dew
Are the groins of the braes that the brook treads through,
Wiry heathpacks, flitches of fern,
And the beadbonny ash that sits over the burn.
What would the world be, once bereft
Of wet and of wildness? Let them be left,
O let them be left, wildness and wet;
Long live the weeds and the wilderness yet.
2 Comments:
A good word, lady, and apt from one who is stuck in the wildering city all day.
Strange, is it not, the way humans love the weeds and the wilderness yet? "Time began in a garden," and we await our own vine and fig tree in the New Jerusalem, but the Wild, the Untamed and Beautiful, has a fascination still. Is it a longing for our proper dominion? If that, what's the source for this urge to keep untrammeled wilderness empty? Is our love of the Wild boredom with ourselves and wanting something More, the Ultimate?
I just returned from a sermon on the early bits of Genesis, if you wondered. :-) In any case, I enjoyed the poem immensely. Do keep posting. I better go read more Hopkins.
Lovely. I'm glad you're posting more... and a weekly poem is a good idea.
Blessings on your job hunt... I know God has something special picked out for you ;).
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