Not, I'll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee; <br /> Not untwist -- slack they may be -- these last strands of man <br /> In me {'o}r, most weary, cry I can no more. I can; <br /> Can something, hope, wish day come, not choose not to be. <br /> But ah, but O thou terrible, why wouldst thou rude on me <br /> Thy wring-world right foot rock? lay a lionlimb against me? scan <br /> With darksome devouring eyes my bruis{`e}d bones? and fan, <br /> O in turns of tempest, me heaped there; me frantic to avo{'i}d thee and <br />flee? <br /> <br /> Why? That my chaff might fly; my grain lie, sheer and clear. <br /> Nay in all that toil, that coil, since (seems) I kissed the rod, <br /> Hand rather, my heart lo! lapped strength, stole joy, would laugh, <br />cheer. <br /> Cheer wh{'o}m though? The h{'e}ro whose h{'e}aven-handling fl{'u}ng <br />me, f{'o}ot tr{'o}d <br /> Me? or m{'e} that f{'o}ught him? O wh{'i}ch one? is it e{'a}ch one? That <br />n{'i}ght, that y{'e}ar <br /> Of now done darkness I wretch lay wrestling with (my God!) my God.<br /><br />Gerard Manley Hopkins<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/carrion-comfort-2/
