Carrion Comfort

Written By Gerard Manley Hopkins

Not, I'll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee;
Not untwist - slack they may be - these last strands of man
In me or, most weary, cry I can no more. I can; 
Can something, hope, wish day come, not choose to be.

But ah, but O thou terrible, why wouldst thou rude on me
Thy wring-world right foot rock? lay a lionlimb against me? scan
With darksome devouring eyes my bruised bones? and fan,
O in turns of tempest, me heaped there; me frantic to avoid thee and 
                       flee?

Why? that my chaff might fly; my grain lie, sheer and clear.
Nay in all that toil, that col, since ( seems) I kissed the rod,
Hand rather, my heart lo! lapped strength, stole joy, would laugh, 
     cheer.

Cheer whom though? The hero whose heaven-handling flung me, foot
       trod
Me? or me that fought him? O which one? is it each one? That night,
        that year
Of now done darkness I wretch lay wrestling with ( my God!) my God.

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