The Modern PoetFor your words and others.
Release 15
Always tinkering.

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This round: quieter reading, book-style chapters, and one HH throughout.

THE MODERN POET

To What Serves Mortal Beauty?

By Gerard Manley Hopkins

To what serves mortal beauty '—dangerous; does set danc- ing blood—the O-seal-that-so ' feature, flung prouder form Than Purcell tune lets tread to? ' See: it does this: keeps warm Men's wits to the things that are; ' what good means—where a glance Master more may than gaze, ' gaze out of countenance. Those lovely lads once, wet-fresh ' windfalls of war's storm, How then should Gregory, a father, ' have gleanèd else from swarm- ed Rome? But God to a nation ' dealt that day's dear chance. To man, that needs would worship ' block or barren stone, Our law says: Love what are ' love's worthiest, were all known; World's loveliest—men's selves. Self ' flashes off frame and face. What do then? how meet beauty? ' Merely meet it; own, Home at heart, heaven's sweet gift; ' then leave, let that alone. Yea, wish that though, wish all, ' God's better beauty, grace.

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Poetry data from PoetryDB, curated by The Combed Thunderclap · metadata CC BY 4.0 · Public-domain poem text (USA)

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