Poem Again

9. Spring

NOTHING is so beautiful as spring—
When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush;
Thrush’s eggs look little low heavens, and thrush
Through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring
The ear, it strikes like lightnings to hear him sing;
The glassy peartree leaves and blooms, they brush
The descending blue; that blue is all in a rush
With richness; the racing lambs too have fair their fling.
What is all this juice and all this joy?
A strain of the earth’s sweet being in the beginning
In Eden garden.—Have, get, before it cloy,
Before it cloud, Christ, lord, and sour with sinning,
Innocent mind and Mayday in girl and boy,
Most, O maid’s child, thy choice and worthy the winning.

Gerard Manley Hopkins

Tonight Mr. Hopkins is bringing tears. I love and am so grateful for language. It traps us and ruins us and is laden with imperfection (wears man's smudge and shares man's smell) and isolates us, whose only deepest desire is connection and understanding; but when it works, and in practiced hands, what a glorious thing.

Also for spring. Even under snow, I'm feeling stirrings again that I thought I'd grown out of. Hope again.

Also making me cry:
1.
2.

(I haven't watched the videos, just listened to the songs real loud repeatedly.) (#2 is pretty awful. Just listen.)