No worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief, <br />More pangs will, schooled at forepangs, wilder wring. <br />Comforter, where, where is your comforting? <br />Mary, mother of us, where is your relief? <br />My cries heave, herds-long; huddle in a main, a chief <br />Woe, world-sorrow; on an age-old anvil wince and sing— <br />Then lull, then leave off. Fury had shrieked 'No ling- <br />ering! Let me be fell: force I must be brief'. <br /> <br /> O the mind, mind has mountains; cliffs of fall <br />Frightful, sheer, no-man-fathomed. Hold them cheap <br />May who ne'er hung there. Nor does long our small <br />Durance deal with that steep or deep. Here! creep, <br />Wretch, under a comfort serves in a whirlwind: all <br />Life death does end and each day dies with sleep.<br /><br />Gerard Manley Hopkins<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/no-worst-there-is-none-pitched-past-pitch-of-gri/
