To His Watch

Mortal my mate, bearing my rock-a-heart
Warm beat with cold beat company, shall I
Earlier or you fail at our force, and lie
The ruins of, rifled, once a world of art?
The telling time our task is; time’s some part,
Not all, but we were framed to fail and die—
One spell and well that one. There, ah thereby
Is comfort’s carol of all or woe’s worst smart.

Field-flown, the departed day no morning brings
Saying ‘This was yours’ with her, but new one, worse,
And then that last and shortest…

by Gerard Manley Hopkins

Comments (1)

Was he in an insane asylum when he wrote this? My God! I came here to check on another site. I was shown this; poem and then asked whether it was written by a human being or a computer. Obviously, I said that a computer had written it, because it was total garbage. I WAS WRONG. When it comes to garbage, computers cannot compete with humans.