The poem
No worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief, More pangs will, schooled at forepangs, wilder wring. Comforter, where, where is your comforting? Mary, mother of us, where is your relief? My cries heave, herds-long; huddle in a main, a chief Woe, world-sorrow; on an age-old anvil wince and sing— Then lull, then leave off. Fury had shrieked 'No ling- ering! Let me be fell: force I must be brief'.
O the mind, mind has mountains; cliffs of fall Frightful, sheer, no-man-fathomed. Hold them cheap May who ne'er hung there. Nor does long our small Durance deal with that steep or deep. Here! creep, Wretch, under a comfort serves in a whirlwind: all Life death does end and each day dies with sleep.
This is one of jis best poems. Read it! I can't believe there is no comment on this poem.
this poet has a deep meaning.one should analyze it carefully to be able to uncover the secret feelings of the poet.
Found this poem without author or reference in Elizabeth Goodge's book The Heart of the Family and guessed it was GMH's work. The expression "world-sorrow" really hits home at the present with so much tragedy and unrest in the world.