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
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