THE HABIT OF PERFECTION
By Gerard Hopkins, S.J.
Elected Silence, sing to meAnd beat upon my whorled ear,Pipe me to pastures still and beThe music that I care to hear.Shape nothing, lips; be lovely-dumb:It is the shut, the curfew sentFrom there where all surrenders comeWhich only make you eloquent.Be shelled, eyes, with double darkAnd find the uncreated light;This ruck and reel which you remarkCoils, keeps, and teases simple sight.Palate, the hutch of tasty lust,Desire not to be rinsed with wine:The can must be so sweet, the crustSo fresh that come in fasts divine!Nostrils, your careless breath that spendUpon the stir and keep of pride,What relish shall the censers sendAlong the sanctuary side!O feel-of-primrose hands, O feetThat want the yield of plushy sward,But you shall walk the golden street,And you unhouse and house the Lord.
Elected Silence, sing to meAnd beat upon my whorled ear,Pipe me to pastures still and beThe music that I care to hear.Shape nothing, lips; be lovely-dumb:It is the shut, the curfew sentFrom there where all surrenders comeWhich only make you eloquent.Be shelled, eyes, with double darkAnd find the uncreated light;This ruck and reel which you remarkCoils, keeps, and teases simple sight.Palate, the hutch of tasty lust,Desire not to be rinsed with wine:The can must be so sweet, the crustSo fresh that come in fasts divine!Nostrils, your careless breath that spendUpon the stir and keep of pride,What relish shall the censers sendAlong the sanctuary side!O feel-of-primrose hands, O feetThat want the yield of plushy sward,But you shall walk the golden street,And you unhouse and house the Lord.
Elected Silence, sing to meAnd beat upon my whorled ear,Pipe me to pastures still and beThe music that I care to hear.
Elected Silence, sing to me
And beat upon my whorled 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 sentFrom there where all surrenders comeWhich only make you eloquent.
Shape nothing, lips; be lovely-dumb:
It is the shut, the curfew sent
From there where all surrenders come
Which only make you eloquent.
Be shelled, eyes, with double darkAnd find the uncreated light;This ruck and reel which you remarkCoils, keeps, and teases simple sight.
Be shelled, eyes, with double dark
And find the uncreated light;
This ruck and reel which you remark
Coils, keeps, and teases simple sight.
Palate, the hutch of tasty lust,Desire not to be rinsed with wine:The can must be so sweet, the crustSo fresh that come in fasts divine!
Palate, the hutch of tasty lust,
Desire not to be rinsed with wine:
The can must be so sweet, the crust
So fresh that come in fasts divine!
Nostrils, your careless breath that spendUpon the stir and keep of pride,What relish shall the censers sendAlong the sanctuary side!
Nostrils, your careless breath that spend
Upon the stir and keep of pride,
What relish shall the censers send
Along the sanctuary side!
O feel-of-primrose hands, O feetThat want the yield of plushy sward,But you shall walk the golden street,And you unhouse and house the Lord.
O feel-of-primrose hands, O feet
That want the yield of plushy sward,
But you shall walk the golden street,
And you unhouse and house the Lord.
And, Poverty, be thou the brideAnd now the marriage feast begun,And lily-colored clothes provideYour spouse not labored-at, nor spun.
And, Poverty, be thou the brideAnd now the marriage feast begun,And lily-colored clothes provideYour spouse not labored-at, nor spun.
And, Poverty, be thou the brideAnd now the marriage feast begun,And lily-colored clothes provideYour spouse not labored-at, nor spun.
And, Poverty, be thou the bride
And now the marriage feast begun,
And lily-colored clothes provide
Your spouse not labored-at, nor spun.