Page:Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins, 1918.djvu/22

8 Had she a quince in hand? Yet gaze:

Rather it is the sizing moon.

Lo, linkèd heavens with milky ways!

That was her larkspur row.—So soon?

Sphered so fast, sweet soul?—We see

Nor fruit, nor flowers, nor Dorothy.

A nun takes the veil

Silence, sing to me

And beat upon my whorlèd ear,

Pipe me to pastures still and be

The music that I care to hear.

Shape nothing, lips; be lovely-dumb:

It is the shut, the curfew sent

From there where all surrenders come

Which only makes you eloquent.