spring

Poem: God's Grandeur

The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man's smudge and shares man's smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.

And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs —
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.
Indexing:

Posts from This Journal by “poetry” Tag

  • Poem: Twelfth Night

    It has always been King Herod that I feared; King Herod and his kinsmen, ever since ... I do not like the colour of your beard; I think that you are…

  • Third Sunday in Ephiphany

    Here is the little door, lift up the latch, oh lift! We need not wander more, but enter with our gift; Our gift of finest gold. Gold that was never…

  • Poem: Untrimming the Tree

    Now all that scintillation is a chore. What they so recently assembled Piece by piece in imitation Of every year for twenty years ago Each day…

I like the idea of this, the feel - nothing lasts forever but nothing fades for long.