Saturday, March 05, 2005

New Readings

Although the letter said
On thistles that men look not grapes to gather,
I read the story rather
How soldiers platting thorns around CHRIST'S HEAD
Grapes grew and drops of wine were shed.

Though when the sower sowed,
The wing├Ęd fowls took part, part fell in thorn,
And never turned to corn,
Part found no root upon the flinty road--
CHRIST at all hazards fruit hath shewed.

From wastes of rock He brings
Food for five thousand: on the thorns He shed
Grains from His drooping Head;
And would not have that legion of winged things
Bear Him to heaven on easeful wings.

* * *

I'd say something, but I think Hopkins says it all. Thanks to the person who pointed this poem out to me.

No comments: