Page:Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins, 1918.djvu/61

Rh Nothing élse is like it, no, not all so strains

Us: fresh youth fretted in a bloomfall all portending

That sweet's sweeter ending;

Realm both Christ is heir to and thére réigns.

O now well work that sealing sacred ointment!

O for now charms, arms, what bans off bad

And locks love ever in a lad!

Let mé though see no more of him, and not disappointment

Those sweet hopes quell whose least me quickenings lift,

In scarlet or somewhere of some day seeing

That brow and bead of being,

An our day's God's own Galahad. Though this child's drift

Seems by a divíne doom chánnelled, nor do I cry

Disaster there; but may he not rankle and roam

In backwheels though bound home?—

That left to the Lord of the Eucharist, I here lie by;

Recorded only, I have put my lips on pleas

Would brandle adamantine heaven with ride and jar, did

Prayer go disregarded:

Forward-like, but however, and like favourable heaven heard these.