I Wake and Feel the Fell of Dark
G.M. Hopkins (1844-89)
I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day.
What hours, O what black hours we have spent this night!
What sights you, heart saw; ways you went!
And more must, in yet longer light’s delay.
With witness I speak this.
But where I say hours I mean years, mean life.
And my lament is cries countless, cries like dead letters sent to dearest him that lives alas! away.
I am gall, I am heartburn.
God’s most deep decree bitter would have me taste: my taste was me.
Bones built in me, flesh filled, blood brimmed the curse.
Selfyeast of spirit a dull dough sours.
I see the lost are like this, and their scourge to be as I am mine, their sweating selves; but worse.