Home » (Poetry) » A Quote. A Poem. Of Regret. Of Self.

A Quote. A Poem. Of Regret. Of Self.

I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day.
What hours, O what black hours we have spent
This night! what sights you, heart, saw; ways you went!
And more must, in yet longer light’s delay.
With witness I speak this. But where I say
Hours I mean years, mean life. And my lament
Is cries countless, cries like dead letters sent
To dearest him that lives alas! away.

I am gall, I am heartburn. God’s most deep decree
Bitter would have me taste: my taste was me;
Bones built in me, flesh filled, blood brimmed the curse.
Selfyeast of spirit a dull dough sours. I see
The lost are like this, and their scourge to be
As I am mine, their sweating selves; but worse.

—Gerard Manley Hopkins

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2 thoughts on “A Quote. A Poem. Of Regret. Of Self.

  1. For some reason I never realize how much this poem mirrors as kingfishers catch fire… Like the evil twin of a mirrorverse, describing the state of the soul sans the saving grace of Christ.

    • There is indeed a shocking difference between calling Christ “dearest him that lives alas! away” versus him who “plays in ten thousand places”!

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