This is the Hopkins Poem selected for Translation at the during. Download it before you come and join this exciting experiment. We quarantee that when you are finished, you will know more about this poem than you ever imagined possible!
I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day, What hour, 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 cures. ---- 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. |