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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