Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Gerard Manley Hopkins
A wonderfully dense poem that delivers a shocking surprise. At first, the poem appears to comfort a distressed child, but it gradually reveals its purpose; to convey to her the inevitability and our eventual desensitisation to death.
Structure
The poem comprises fifteen lines, mostly rhyming coupl...
Spring and Fall: To a Young Child
Márgarét, áre you gríeving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leáves, like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Áh! ás the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you wíll weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sórrow's spríngs áre the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It is the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.