Spelt from Sybil's Leaves

For earth
her being has unbound, her dapple is at an end, as-
tray or aswarm, all throughter, in throngs;
self in self steeded and pashed- quite
Disremembering, dismembering
all now. Heart you round me right
With: Our evening is over us; our night
whelms, whelms, and will end us.

-Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844-89)

After three weeks of made up words, exclamation marks, and general despair and crisis of faith, I've grown (dare I?) accustomed to Hopkins; I even rather like him, save for complex syntax and impossible to read verses. I even ventre to say that 19th Century is worth the 7.45am wakeup call, the chilly interior of the goddamn room CDTL-SR2 in the middle of nowhere (and is definitely NOT worth the steep ascent into the Chinese library madness in the morning), and the pounding of my heart as i pray that i won't be late for class every Monday/Tuesday.

Perhaps I'll feel different after my presentation on the Alice books.