Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844-1889), an English poet and Jesuit priest, was largely unrecognized for his poetic contributions during his lifetime. Posthumously, Hopkins has been celebrated for his innovative use of language and rhythm, as well as the deep spiritual and nature-oriented themes in his work.
Hopkins was profoundly influenced by his religious faith, which permeated much of his poetry. His critical view of the industrial revolution’s impact on nature, combined with his unique prosody—termed “sprung rhythm”—and vivid imagery, positioned him as a precursor to modernist poets. The fluctuating recognition of literary figures often reflects the evolving tastes and critical frameworks of successive generations rather than an objective measure of their work’s value within their own time.
The eldest of nine children, Hopkins was educated at Highgate School and Balliol College, Oxford. After converting to Catholicism under the influence of John Henry Newman, he entered the Society of Jesus in 1868. His commitment to his vocation led him to burn his early poems, only to be encouraged to write again later by his religious superiors. Hopkins’ poetry remained largely unpublished until after his death, with his friend Robert Bridges playing a significant role in bringing his works to public attention.
Hopkins’ most recognizable poems include “The Windhover” and “Spring and Fall: To a Young Child,” both of which are found below.
The Windhover
To Christ our Lord
I caught this morning morning’s minion, king-
dom of daylight’s dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding
Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding
High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing
In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,
As a skate’s heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding
Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding
Stirred for a bird, – the achieve of, the mastery of the thing!
Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here
Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion
Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier!
No wonder of it: shéer plód makes plough down sillion
Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear,
Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermilion.
Spring and Fall
To a young child
Márgarét, áre you gríeving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leáves like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! ás the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you wíll weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sórrow’s spríngs áre the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It ís the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.
Sparks of Calliope 