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.
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).
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