...the blight of man...

                                        







                                       Spring and Fall:

                                      to a Young Child

                              Margaret, are you grieving
                               Over Goldengrove unleaving?
                               Leaves, like the things of man, you
                             With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
                              Ah! as 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 will weep and know why.
                              Now no matter, child, the name:
                              Sorrow's springs are the same.
                              Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
                            What héart héard of, ghóst guéssed:
                             It is the blight man was born for,
                             It is Margaret you mourn for.



                                             Gerard Manley Hopkins SJ







.