To His Watch

Gerard Manley Hopkins

Mortal my mate, bearing my rock-a-heart 
Warm beat with cold beat company, shall I
Earlier or you fail at our force, and lie
The ruins of, rifled, once a world of art?
The telling time our task is; time’s some part,
Not all, but we were framed to fail and die—
One spell and well that one. There, ah thereby
Is comfort’s carol of all or woe’s worst smart.

Field-flown, the departed day no morning brings
Saying ‘This was yours’ with her, but new one, worse,
And then that last and shortest…

Next 10 Poems

• Gerard Manley Hopkins : To R. B.
• Gerard Manley Hopkins : To Seem The Stranger Lies My Lot, My Life
• Gerard Manley Hopkins : To What Serves Mortal Beauty?
• Gerard Manley Hopkins : Tom's Garland
• Gerard Manley Hopkins : What Being In Rank-old Nature
• Gerard Manley Hopkins : What Being In Rank-old Nature Should Earlier Have That Breath Been
• Gerard Manley Hopkins : What Shall I Do For The Land That Bred Me
• Alfred Edward Housman : 1887
• Alfred Edward Housman : Along The Field As We Came By
• Alfred Edward Housman : As Through The Wild Green Hills Of Wyre

Previous 10 Poems

• Gerard Manley Hopkins : To Him Who Ever Thought With Love Of Me
• Gerard Manley Hopkins : To A Young Child
• Gerard Manley Hopkins : Thou Art Indeed Just, Lord, If I Contend
• Gerard Manley Hopkins : Thou Art Indeed Just
• Gerard Manley Hopkins : Thee, God, I Come From, To Thee Go
• Gerard Manley Hopkins : Thee, God, I Come From
• Gerard Manley Hopkins : The Wreck Of The Deutschland
• Gerard Manley Hopkins : The Woodlark
• Gerard Manley Hopkins : The Windhover: To Christ Our Lord
• Gerard Manley Hopkins : The Windhover