gerard manely hopkins

i have recently discovered the glories of this brillaint but tragic poet. a child prodigy who gave everything up (after being described as the star of balliol college oxford) to be join the society of jesus, he generally hated his job and died earlier than he should. he also didn't write anything for years. how can such a man produce such beautiful poetry?

here one of his most famous - a good one for us city dwellers on a drab march day.

the world is charged with the granduer 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 shres 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 through the lat lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs-
Becasue the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and ah! bright wings.