no worst, there is none

is there ever a good time g. m. hopkins? not really. when read at the crack of dawn, much of what he says appears luminous. when read by nightfall, much of what he says appears shot through with sorrow. for now, consider ‘no worst, there is none. pitched past pitch of grief':

no worst, there is none. pitched past pitch of grief,
more pangs will, schooled at forepangs, wilder wring.
comforter, where, where is your comforting?
mary, mother of us, where is your relief?
my cries heave, herds-long; huddle in a main, a chief
woe, world-sorrow; on an age-old anvil wince and sing—
then lull, then leave off. fury had shrieked ‘no ling-
ering! let me be fell: force i must be brief’.

o the mind, mind has mountains; cliffs of fall
frightful, sheer, no-man-fathomed. hold them cheap
may who ne’er hung there. nor does long our small
durance deal with that steep or deep. here! creep,
wretch, under a comfort serves in a whirlwind: all
life death does end and each day dies with sleep.

— gerard manley hopkins (1844–89), poems, 1918.