The poem
The 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 went Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs— Because the Holy Ghost over the bent World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.
Oh, that such prophesy should exist so long ago and then to summarize it all in such a simple title.
this issimply a poem about how hopkins sees the glory of god reflected in nature, it is an italian sonnet with one octave and one sestet.
A poem that breathes light, love and freshness each time i read it !Truly, hopkins saw ( or felt ) as only few others have and was blessed with the gift to express the truly inexpressible !