Generaciones han pisado, pisado, pisado; y todo se ha chamuscado con la industria; empañado, manchado, con el trabajo; y lleva la suciedad del hombre… - Gerard Manley Hopkins

" "

Generaciones han pisado, pisado, pisado;
y todo se ha chamuscado con la industria;
empañado, manchado, con el trabajo;
y lleva la suciedad del hombre, el olor del hombre:
la tierra está desnuda, y el pie, calzado, ya no siente.
Y con todo esto, la naturaleza nunca se agota,
en el fondo de las cosas vive la muy amada lozanía;
y aunque se perdieron las luces por el negro Oeste,
ah, la mañana nace en el castaño umbral del Este.

Spanish
Collect this quote

About Gerard Manley Hopkins

Gerard Manley Hopkins (28 July 1844 – 8 June 1889) was a Jesuit priest and English poet whose posthumous, 20th-century fame established him among the finest Victorian poets. His experimental explorations in prosody (especially in regard to sprung rhythm) and his vibrant use of imagery established him as both an original and daring innovator in a period of largely traditional verse.

Biography information from Wikiquote

Also Known As

Alternative Names: Hopkins
Unlimited Quote Collections

Organize your favorite quotes without limits. Create themed collections for every occasion with Premium.

Related quotes. More quotes will automatically load as you scroll down, or you can use the load more buttons.

Additional quotes by Gerard Manley Hopkins

Works in ChatGPT, Claude, or Any AI

Add semantic quote search to your AI assistant via MCP. One command setup.

"I Wake and Feel the Fell of Dark, Not Day"

I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day.
What hours, O what black hours we have spent
This night! what sights you, heart, saw; ways you went!
And more must, in yet longer light's delay.

With witness I speak this. But where I say
Hours I mean years, mean life. And my lament
Is cries countless, cries like dead letters sent
To dearest him that lives alas! away.

I am gall, I am heartburn. God's most deep decree
Bitter would have me taste: my taste was me;
Bones built in me, flesh filled, blood brimmed the curse.

Selfyeast of spirit a dull dough sours. I see
The lost are like this, and their scourge to be
As I am mine, their sweating selves, but worse.

Loading...