mercoledì, ottobre 10, 2012

That the Nature is a Heraclitean Fire and of the comfort of the Resurrection

Cloud-puffball, torn tufts, tossed pillows ' flaunt forth, then chevy on an air- 
built thoroughfare: heaven-roysterers, in gay-gangs ' they throng; they glitter in marches.Down roughcast, down dazzling whitewash, ' wherever an elm arches,    
Shivelights and shadowtackle in long ' lashes lace, lance, and pair.      
Delightfully the bright wind boisterous ' ropes, wrestles, beats earth bare
Of yestertempest’s creases; in pool and rut peel parches
Squandering ooze to squeezed ' dough, crust, dust; stanches, starches
Squadroned masks and manmarks ' treadmire toil there          
Footfretted in it. Million-fuelèd, ' nature’s bonfire burns on.      
But quench her bonniest, dearest ' to her, her clearest-selvèd spark              
Man, how fast his firedint, ' his mark on mind, is gone! 
Both are in an unfathomable, all is in an enormous dark           
Drowned. O pity and indig ' nation! Manshape, that shone      
Sheer off, disseveral, a star, ' death blots black out; nor mark   
                Is any of him at all so stark               
But vastness blurs and time ' beats level. Enough! the Resurrection,     
A heart’s-clarion! Away grief’s gasping, ' joyless days, dejection.         
                Across my foundering deck shone        
A beacon, an eternal beam. ' Flesh fade, and mortal trash         
Fall to the residuary worm; ' world’s wildfire, leave but ash:           
                In a flash, at a trumpet crash,    
I am all at once what Christ is, ' since he was what I am, and    
This Jack, joke, poor potsherd, ' patch, matchwood, immortal diamond,        
                Is immortal diamond.

Gerard Manley Hopkins