Rabies
by Gerard Manley Hopkins
Thou art the lion of God with bristled burnt bear hide:
Thy furrowed brow, the headdress of thee boary stallion,
Mouth girdled with frothy soap which bubbles as the sea,
Thou shape curved as hills caped in autumn.
Night made thee, yet thou have made this night
For me, thou art a fearsome presence, bound to this
Empty alley of silver lined bin and muddied earth
Grim home of forgotten things, which hands have dropped.
Did God make thee monster to arise the fear forsaken
Long ago forbeared to day and sunlight, to clarity
And have I turned from thee O dark? Shall I be
Wound by wet teeth and maddened by bedeviled syrup?
Thou art the bear of God! the night of mine soul!
But thou art more than my soul, for thou bite
Is more feared then all demons, for Thou art the world's
wrath unhinged; night! But this stick in hand - O bear! - is God's wrath
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