Published on Academy of American Poets (https://poets.org)


41 [No worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief,]

No worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief, 
More pangs will, schooled at forepangs, wilder wring. 
Comforter, where, where is your comforting? 
Mary, mother of us, where is your relief? 
My cries heave, herds-long; huddle in a main, a chief 
Woe, world-sorrow; on an age-old anvil wince and sing—
Then lull, then leave off. Fury had shrieked 'No ling- 
ering! Let me be fell: force I must be brief.'

    O the mind, mind has mountains; cliffs of fall 
Frightful, sheer, no-man-fathomed. Hold them cheap 
May who ne'er hung there. Nor does long our small 
Durance deal with that steep or deep. Here! creep, 
Wretch, under a comfort serves in a whirlwind: all 
Life death does end and each day dies with sleep. 

Credit


This poem is in the public domain. Published in Poem-a-Day on September 22, 2018, by the Academy of American Poets.

About this Poem


“41 ‘No worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief’” was published in Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins (Humphrey Milford, 1918).

Author


Gerard Manley Hopkins

Born at Stratford, Essex, England, on July 28, 1844, Gerard Manley Hopkins

Date Published: 2018-09-22

Source URL: https://poets.org/poem/41-no-worst-there-none-pitched-past-pitch-grief