A poem for autumn

Good poetry is always in season.

Hurrahing in Harvest

Summer ends now; now, barbarous in beauty, the stooks arise 
  Around; up above, what wind-walks! what lovely behaviour 
  Of silk-sack clouds! has wilder, wilful-wavier 
Meal-drift moulded ever and melted across skies? 

I walk, I lift up, I lift up heart, eyes, 
  Down all that glory in the heavens to glean our Saviour; 
  And, éyes, heárt, what looks, what lips yet gave you a 
Rapturous love’s greeting of realer, of rounder replies? 

And the azurous hung hills are his world-wielding shoulder 
  Majestic—as a stallion stalwart, very-violet-sweet!—
These things, these things were here and but the beholder 
  Wanting; which two when they once meet, 
The heart rears wings bold and bolder 
  And hurls for him, O half hurls earth for him off under his feet. 

Gerard Manley Hopkins

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