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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 decrees 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.

by Gerard Manley Hopkins
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