Poems of Gerard Manley HopkinsThe world is charged with the grandeur of God.It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;And wears man's smudge and shares man's smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.And for all this, nature is never spent;There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West wentOh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs-Because the Holy Ghost over the bentWorld broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.