Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins Now First Published — A Closer Reading

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Authors: Hopkins, Gerard Manley, 1844-1889, Bridges, Robert, 1844-1930 [Editor] Digital Source: Project Gutenberg Gutenberg Release Year: 2007 First Publication Year: Not confirmed

Key Word: Poetry Target Reader: Readers of public-domain and historical texts

Book Edition: Project Gutenberg digital edition Book Language: en

Edition facts

Words 32,053

Reading time 140 min

Text sections 4

For Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins Now First Published — A Closer Reading, the stored edition analysis reports 32,053 words, 2 hr 20 min estimated reading time, and 4 detected text sections.

The text analysis averages about 20.5 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.

Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Poetry,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

Source: Project Gutenberg record #22403

This 1918 edition, edited by Robert Bridges, collects Hopkins's poems with a preface explaining his sprung rhythm. The excerpts reveal compressed syntax, coined compounds, and a shift from dense religious sonnets to lighter nature lyrics, offering a view of his experimental voice.

Editorial Edition Score 4.5/5

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Title & short description10 pts
Source metadata20 pts
Text length15 pts
Chapters / structure15 pts
EPUB file integrity20 pts

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Edition quality

File: pg22403

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hat was her larkspur row.--So soon? Sphered so fast, sweet soul?--We see Nor fruit, nor flowers, nor Dorothy.

_2 Heaven--Haven A nun takes the veil_

I HAVE desired to go Where springs not fail, To fields where flies no sharp and sided hail And a few lilies blow.

And I have asked to be Where no storms come, Where the green swell is in the havens dumb, And out of the swing of the sea.

_3 The Habit of Perfection_

ELECTED Silence, sing to me And beat upon my whorlèd ear, Pipe me to pastures still and be The music that I care to hear.

Shape nothing, lips; be lovely-dumb: It is the shut, the curfew sent From there where all surrenders come Which only makes you eloquent.

Be shellèd, eyes, with double dark And find the uncreated light: This ruck and reel which you remark Coils, keeps, and teases simple sight.

Palate, the hutch of tasty lust, Desire not to be rinsed with wine: The can must be so sweet, the crust So fresh that come in fasts divine!

Nostrils, your careless breath that spend Upon the stir and keep of pride, What relish shall the censers send Along the sanctuary side!

O feel-of-primrose hands, O feet That want the yield of plushy sward, But you shall walk the golden street And you unhouse and house the Lord.

And, Poverty, be thou the bride And now the marriage feast begun, And lily-coloured clothes provide Your spouse not laboured-at nor spun.

_4 THE WRECK OF THE DEUTSCHLAND_

To the happy memory of five Franciscan Nuns exiles by the Falk Laws drowned between midnight and morning of Dec. 7th. 1875

1 Thou mastering me God! giver of breath and bread; World's strand, sway of the sea; Lord of living and dead; Thou hast bound bones and veins in me, fastened me flesh, And after it almost unmade, what with dread, Thy doing: and dost thou touch me afresh? Over again I feel thy finger and find thee.

2 I did say yes O at lightning and lashed rod; Thou heardst me truer than tongue confess Thy terror, O Christ, O God; Thou knowest the walls, altar and hour and night: The swoon of a heart that the sweep and the hurl of thee trod Hard down with a horror of height: And the midriff astrain with leaning of, laced with fire of stress.

3 The frown of his face Before me, the hurtle of hell Behind, where, where was a, where was a place? I whirled out wings that spell And fled with a fling of the heart to the heart of the Host. My heart, but you were dovewinged, I can tell, Carrier-witted, I am bold to boast, To flash from the flame to the flame then, tower from the grace to the grace.

4 I am soft sift In an hourglass--at the wall Fast, but mined with a motion, a drift, And it crowds and it combs to the fall; I steady as a water in a well, to a poise, to a pane, But roped with, always, all the way down from the tall Fells or flanks of the voel, a vein Of the gospel proffer, a pressure, a principle, Christ's gift.

5 I kiss my hand To the stars, lovely-asunder Starlight, wafting him out of it; and Glow, glory in thunder; Kiss my hand to the dappled-with-damson west: Since, tho' he is under the world's splendour and wonder, His mystery must be instressed, stressed; For I greet him the days I meet him, and bless when I understand.

6 Not out of his bliss Springs the stress felt Nor first from heaven (and few know this) Swings the stroke dealt-- Stroke and a stress that stars and storms deliver, That guilt is hushed by, hearts are flushed by and melt-- But it rides time like riding a river (And here the faithful waver, the faithless fable and miss),

7 It dates from day Of his going in Galilee; Warm-laid grave of a womb-life grey; Manger, maiden's knee; The dense and the driven Passion, and frightful sweat; Thence the discharge of it, there its swelling to be, Though felt before, though in high flood yet-- What none would have known of it, only the heart, being hard at bay,

8 Is out with it! Oh, We lash with the best or worst Word last! How a lush-kept plush-capped sloe Will, mouthed to flesh-burst, Gush!--flush the man, the being with it, sour or sweet, Brim, in a flash, full!--Hither then, last or first, To hero of Calvary, Christ,'s feet-- Never ask if meaning it, wanting it, warned of it--men go.

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Gerard Manley Hopkins's poems, as presented in this 1918 first edition edited by Robert Bridges, immediately confront the reader with a distinctive linguistic texture. The author's preface lays out his metrical innovations, distinguishing between running rhythm and sprung rhythm, and notes that some poems are counterpointed. This technical framing sets the stage for verse that often feels compressed, with coined compounds like 'dandled diamonds' and 'blood-gush blade-gash' appearing in the excerpts. The editor's sonnet, which opens the collection, characterizes Hopkins's talent as 'rare ill-broker'd,' hinting at the unconventional nature of the work within.

Sprung Rhythm and Compressed Syntax

The preface defines sprung rhythm as measured by feet of one to four syllables, allowing for irregular stress patterns. In practice, this produces lines like 'The blue wheat-acre is underneath / And the braided ear breaks out of the sheath,' where the rhythm pushes against conventional meter. The syntax often omits articles or conjunctions, creating a dense, almost tactile quality. For instance, 'Foam-tuft fumitory' and 'laced-leaved lovely' stack modifiers without verbs, forcing the reader to slow down. This technique appears most starkly in the unfinished fragments, where phrases like 'Tatter-tassel-tangled and dingle-a-dangled' build a cumulative sonic effect.

Shifts in Voice and Pace Across the Collection

The excerpts show a marked contrast between the early sonnets and later nature lyrics. The sonnet 'The shepherd's brow fronting forked lightning' employs a grave, declarative tone: 'Man Jack the man is, just; his mate a hussy.' The pace is deliberate, each line a compressed moral judgment. In contrast, 'The Woodlark' mimics bird song with rapid, onomatopoeic bursts: 'Teevo cheetio cheevio chee.' The line lengths vary wildly, from short exclamations to longer descriptive passages, creating a sense of spontaneous flight. The moonrise poem shifts again, with a slow, meditative opening that uses enjambment to stretch the moment: 'I awoke in the Midsummer not to call night, | in the white and the walk of the morning.'

Recurring Imagery of Light, Sound, and Natural Detail

Across the excerpts, certain images recur: light filtering through surfaces, as in 'sunlight sidled, like dewdrops, like dandled diamonds / Through the sieve of the straw of the plait'; and sound as a structuring force, such as the cuckoo's call that makes 'the whole landscape flushes on a sudden at a sound.' The natural world is rendered with precise botanical and meteorological terms—'bluebells sheaved in May,' 'wind-long fleeces,' 'crush-silk poppies aflash'—that ground the abstract metrical experiments in sensory detail. These observations are not merely decorative but integral to the poems' argument about perception and divine presence.

Readers approaching this edition should attend to the interplay between the author's preface and the poems themselves, as the metrical theory often illuminates the practice. The editor's notes, which refer to page numbers and poem numbers, provide a framework for tracing revisions and variants. Because the text includes unfinished fragments and facsimile references, it rewards careful comparison between the printed words and the original manuscripts available online.

Sitting with Hopkins’ sprung rhythm again, I kept thinking of that other collection, how its quieter discussions felt like a hand resting on a shoulder. This 1918 edition holds his coiled, difficult sonnets, then opens suddenly into light—and I remembered how Poems — Context and Discussion lingered on such shifts without rushing them. It felt like watching the same weather from two windows.