Earth, sweet Earth, sweet landscape, with leavés throng <br />And louchéd low grass, heaven that dost appeal <br />To, with no tongue to plead, no heart to feel; <br />That canst but only be, but dost that long— <br /> <br />Thou canst but be, but that thou well dost; strong <br />Thy plea with him who dealt, nay does now deal, <br />Thy lovely dale down thus and thus bids reel <br />Thy river, and o’er gives all to rack or wrong. <br /> <br />And what is Earth’s eye, tongue, or heart else, where <br />Else, but in dear and dogged man?—Ah, the heir <br />To his own selfbent so bound, so tied to his turn, <br />To thriftless reave both our rich round world bare <br />And none reck of world after, this bids wear <br />Earth brows of such care, care and dear concern.<br /><br />Gerard Manley Hopkins<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ribblesdale/
