A Retreat with Hopkins: Good Friday

No worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief, More pangs will, schooled at forepangs, wilder wring. Comforter, where, where is your comforting? Mary, mother of us, where is your relief? My cries heave, herds-long; huddle in a main, a chief- Woe, wórld-sorrow; on an áge-old ánvil wínce and síng– Then lull, […]

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