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 sent
From there where all surrenders come,
Which only makes you eloquent.
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 crust so fresh
That come in fasts divine.
Nostrils, your careless breath
That spends upon the stir and keep of pride,
What relish shall the censors send
Along the sanctuary side!
Oh feel-of-primrose hands,
Oh feet that want the feel of plushy sward,
But you shall walk the golden street,
And you unhouse and house the lord.
And poverty, be thou the bride,
And now the marriage feast begun,
And lily-covered clothes provide,
Your spouse, not labored at nor spun.
--- Gerard Manley Hopkins, 188X
