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The Woodlark Post by :rmholla Category :Poems Author :Gerard Manley Hopkins Date :August 2011 Read :1713

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The Woodlark

_TEEVO cheetio cheevio chee:_
O where, what can that be?
_Weedio-weedio:_ there again!
So tiny a trickle of song-strain;
And all round not to be found
For brier, bough, furrow, or green ground
Before or behind or far or at hand
Either left either right
Anywhere in the sunlight.
Well, after all! Ah but hark--
'I am the little woodlark.
. . . . . . .
To-day the sky is two and two
With white strokes and strains of the blue
. . . . . . .
Round a ring, around a ring
And while I sail (must listen) I sing
. . . . . . .
The skylark is my cousin and he
Is known to men more than me
. . . . . . .
. . . when the cry within
Says Go on then I go on
Till the longing is less and the good gone

But down drop, if it says Stop,
To the all-a-leaf of the treetop
And after that off the bough
. . . . . . .
I am so very, O so very glad
That I do think there is not to be had . . .
. . . . . . .
The blue wheat-acre is underneath
And the braided ear breaks out of the sheath,
The ear in milk, lush the sash,
And crush-silk poppies aflash,
The blood-gush blade-gash
Flame-rash rudred
Bud shelling or broad-shed
Tatter-tassel-tangled and dingle-a-dangled
Dandy-hung dainty head.
. . . . . . .
And down ... the furrow dry
Sunspurge and oxeye
And laced-leaved lovely
Foam-tuft fumitory
. . . . . . .
Through the velvety wind V-winged
To the nest's nook I balance and buoy
With a sweet joy of a sweet joy,
Sweet, of a sweet, of a sweet joy
Of a sweet--a sweet--sweet--joy.'

(The end)
Gerard Manley Hopkins's poem: Woodlark

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Repeat That, Repeat Repeat That, Repeat

Repeat That, Repeat
REPEAT that, repeat,Cuckoo, bird, and open ear wells, heart-springs, delightfully sweet,With a ballad, with a ballad, a reboundOff trundled timber and scoops of the hillside ground, hollow hollow hollow ground:The whole landscape flushes on a sudden at a sound.(The end)Gerard Manley Hopkins's poem: Repeat That, Repeat

The Furl Of Fresh-leaved Dogrose Down The Furl Of Fresh-leaved Dogrose Down

The Furl Of Fresh-leaved Dogrose Down
THE furl of fresh-leaved dogrose downHis cheeks the forth-and-flaunting sunHad swarthed about with lion-brown Before the Spring was done.His locks like all a ravel-rope's-end, With hempen strands in spray--Fallow, foam-fallow, hanks--fall'n off their ranks, Swung down at a disarray.Or like a juicy and jostling shock Of bluebells sheaved in MayOr wind-long fleeces on the flock A day off shearing day.Then over his turned temples--here-- Was a rose, or, failing that,Rough-Robin or five-lipped campion clear For a beauty-bow to his hat,And the sunlight sidled, like dewdrops,