tirsdag den 4. marts 2008

That Nature is a Heraclitian Fire and of

the comfort of the Resurrection

CLOUD-PUFFBALL, turn tufts, tossed pillows ‘ flaunt forth, then

chevy on an air-

built thoroughfare : heaven-roysterers, in gay-gangs ‘ they throng ;

they glitter in marches.

Down roughcast, down dazzling whitewash, ‘ wherever an elm


Shivelights and shadowtackle in long ‘ lashes lace, lance, and pair.

Delightfully the bright wind boisterous ‘ ropes, wrestles, beats

earth bare

Of yestertempest’s creases ; in pool and rut peel parches

Squandering ooze to squeezed ‘ dough, crust, dust; stanches,


Sqaudroned masks and manmarks ‘ treadmire toil there

Footfretted in it. Million-fuelèd, ‘ nature’s bonfire burns on.

But quench her bonniest, dearest ‘ to her, her clearest-selvèd


Man, how fast is firedint, ‘ his mark on mind, is gone !

Both are in an unfathomable, all is an enormous dark

Drowned. O pity and indig ‘ nation ! Manshape, that shone

Sheer off, disseveral, a star, ‘ death blots black out ; nor mark

Is any of him at all so stark

But vastness blurs and time ‘ beats level. Enough ! the Resur-


A heart’s-clarion ! Away grief’s gasping, ‘ joyless days, de dejection.

Across my foundering deck shone

A beacon, an eternal beam. ‘ Flesh fade, and mortal trash

Fall to the residuary worm ; ‘ worlds wildfire, leave but ash :

In a flash, at a trumpet crash,

I am all at once what Christ is, ´ since he was what I am, and

This Jack, joke, poor potsherd, ‘ patch, matchwood, immortal


Is immortal diamond.

Gerard Manley Hopkins

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