no worst, there is none

No worries, there are none. This is definitely not a reflection of my mood right now. i just thought that i'd be posting this at some point anyways, and far better to do it when i am not 'pitched past pitch of grief' than when i am.

Read this out loud. Like all other Hopkins poems, the sound effects are simply amazing.

Also, fellow Lit-geeks, am i just imagining things, or does this have distinctly Lear-ian echoes? It's not so much the language as the imagery and the ideas. Please tell me i am not crazy.
('Let me not be mad, sweet heaven...')


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.


(G.M Hopkins)
...
...