Tuesday, September 11, 2007

Spring and Fall by Gerard Manley Hopkins



To a young child


Márgarét, are you gríeving


Over Goldengrove unleaving?


Leáves, líke the things of man, you


With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?


Ah! ás the heart grows older


It will come to such sights colder


By and by, nor spare a sigh


Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;


And yet you wíll weep and know why.


Now no matter, child, the name:


Sórrow's spríngs áre the same.


Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed


What heart heard of, ghost guessed:


It ís the blight man was born for,


It is Margaret you mourn for.



This is the only poem (longer than a couple of lines) that I have memorized. I don't know why I decided to memorize this one. I suppose I like the imagery of the forest, and the innocence of the child, and the realizations she makes.

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