Si vous souhaitez lire les poèmes les plus célèbres et les plus beaux de Gerard Manley Hopkins, vous êtes au bon endroit. Bien que l'art soit subjectif, j'ai tenté de sélectionner les poèmes les plus remarquables de cet auteur sur la base de mes préférences personnelles et de leur présence dans plusieurs anthologies de poésie que j'ai lues.

Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844-1889), un poète anglais innovant et prêtre jésuite, est mieux connu pour "The Windhover". Ce poème, admiré pour son rythme distinctif et l'entrelacement des thèmes spirituels et naturels, souligne le génie poétique de Hopkins.

Voici notre sélection des meilleurs poèmes de Gerard Manley Hopkins.

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The Windhover - Gerard Manley Hopkins

"The Windhover" est un sonnet de Gerard Manley Hopkins écrit en 1877 dédié au Christ, symboliquement représenté par un faucon. Le poème transmet l'émerveillement du locuteur devant la majesté de l'oiseau en vol, symbole de puissance divine et de grâce.

De mon point de vue, "The Windhover" est un poème stupéfiant, capturant la beauté de la nature et la spiritualité qu'elle peut inspirer. Le style unique de Hopkins, en particulier son rythme sautillant et ses allitérations, ajoute une qualité dynamique au poème qui reflète le vol de l'oiseau.

To Christ our Lord

I caught this morning morning's minion, king-
dom of daylight's dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding
Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding
High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing
In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,
As a skate's heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding
Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding
Stirred for a bird, – the achieve of, the mastery of the thing!

Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here
Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion
Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier!

No wonder of it: shéer plód makes plough down sillion
Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear,
Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermilion.

God's Grandeur - Gerard Manley Hopkins

"God's Grandeur" est un sonnet de Pétrarque dans lequel Hopkins s'émerveille de l'omniprésence et de la grâce de Dieu dans le monde, malgré l'exploitation constante de la nature par l'humanité. Selon Hopkins, le poème reflète l'esprit divin qui imprègne le monde, malgré les actions humaines.

"God's Grandeur" est un témoignage émouvant de la foi d'Hopkins et de sa connexion profonde avec la nature. La critique du détachement de l'humanité par rapport à la nature et la célébration de la présence durable de Dieu sont puissantes et provocatrices. La combinaison de réflexions spirituelles et de conscience environnementale résonne probablement avec de nombreux lecteurs.

The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man's smudge and shares man's smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.

And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs —
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.

I Wake and Feel the Fell of Dark - Gerard Manley Hopkins

"I Wake and Feel the Fell of Dark" est l'un des 'terrible sonnets' d'Hopkins, ainsi nommés en raison de leur exploration des thèmes du désespoir et de la crise spirituelle. Dans ce poème, le locuteur décrit un état de profonde désolation et de distance par rapport à Dieu, exprimant solitude et désolation.

Je trouve "I Wake and Feel the Fell of Dark" profondément touchant en tant que lecteur. L'expression de la crise spirituelle et du désespoir d'Hopkins est intense et poignante. De plus, sa capacité à articuler une telle tourmente intérieure résonne probablement avec les lecteurs qui apprécient la capacité de la poésie à exprimer des états émotionnels complexes.

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 decree
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.

No Worst, There is None - Gerard Manley Hopkins

"No Worst, There is None" est un autre des 'terrible sonnets' d'Hopkins écrit alors qu'il souffrait de dépression dans les années 1880. Le poème décrit un désespoir extrême et une souffrance mentale, le locuteur se sentant abandonné par Dieu. Le langage intense du poème et l'émotion brute en font une lecture difficile mais profondément émouvante.

Personnellement, je suis frappé par l'intensité émotionnelle de "No Worst, There is None". La représentation du désespoir est impitoyable et hante l'esprit, offrant une exploration puissante de l'angoisse mentale. Cette représentation sans concession de la souffrance et son exploration de la crise spirituelle contribuent probablement à son attrait pour de nombreux lecteurs.

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, wórld-sorrow; on an áge-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.

Pied Beauty - Gerard Manley Hopkins

"Pied Beauty" est un sonnet curtal (style inventé par Hopkins) de 1877 dans lequel il loue Dieu pour la variété et les contrastes trouvés dans le monde naturel.

De mon point de vue, "Pied Beauty" est un poème délicieux et exaltant pour son style unique. L'appréciation d'Hopkins pour la diversité et la complexité du monde naturel est magnifiquement exprimée.

Glory be to God for dappled things –
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings;
Landscape plotted and pieced – fold, fallow, and plough;
And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spare, strange;
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
Praise him.

Spring and Fall - Gerard Manley Hopkins

"Spring and Fall" (1880) est un poème dans lequel Hopkins s'adresse à une jeune fille nommée Margaret, qui est bouleversée par la chute des feuilles. Le poème est une méditation sur l'aspect temporaire de la vie et l'inévitabilité de la mortalité.

Personnellement, "Spring and Fall" me touche par son exploration tendre de l'enfance, du changement et de la mortalité. La réponse compatissante de Hopkins à la tristesse de Margaret offre une réflexion poignante sur la condition humaine.

Márgarét, áre you gríeving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leáves like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! ás 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 wíll weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sórrow’s spríngs áre the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It ís the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.

Thou Art Indeed Just, Lord - Gerard Manley Hopkins

"Thou Art Indeed Just, Lord" est un poème dans lequel Hopkins engage un dialogue avec Dieu. Il questionne pourquoi il doit souffrir malgré sa piété. Le poème est une exploration passionnée de la foi, du doute et de la souffrance humaine.

En tant que lecteur, je trouve que "Thou Art Indeed Just, Lord" est un poème profondément engageant. Le dialogue franc de Hopkins avec Dieu offre une exploration convaincante de la foi et du doute. Son questionnement honnête et son exploration de la souffrance humaine résonnent probablement avec de nombreux lecteurs.

Thou art indeed just, Lord, if I contend
With thee; but, sir, so what I plead is just.
Why do sinners' ways prosper? and why must
Disappointment all I endeavour end?
Wert thou my enemy, O thou my friend,
How wouldst thou worse, I wonder, than thou dost
Defeat, thwart me? Oh, the sots and thralls of lust
Do in spare hours more thrive than I that spend,
Sir, life upon thy cause. See, banks and brakes
Now, leavèd how thick! lacèd they are again
With fretty chervil, look, and fresh wind shakes
Them; birds build – but not I build; no, but strain,
Time's eunuch, and not breed one work that wakes.
Mine, O thou lord of life, send my roots rain.

To R.B. - Gerard Manley Hopkins

"To R.B." est un poème que Hopkins a écrit en hommage au poète Robert Bridges le 22 avril 1889. C'est une célébration de leur amitié et un témoignage de leur respect mutuel. Le poème est également remarquable pour ses réflexions sur la nature de la poésie.

Personnellement, "To R.B." me fascine car il offre un aperçu des vues d'Hopkins sur la poésie et de sa relation avec un autre poète. Le contexte personnel et les sentiments sincères exprimés dans le poème en font une lecture unique et engageante. Cette intimité dans la vie et les pensées d'Hopkins contribue probablement à l'attrait du poème.

The fine delight that fathers thought; the strong
Spur, live and lancing like the blowpipe flame,
Breathes once and, quenchèd faster than it came,
Leaves yet the mind a mother of immortal song.
Nine months she then, nay years, nine years she long
Within her wears, bears, cares and moulds the same:
The widow of an insight lost she lives, with aim
Now known and hand at work now never wrong.
Sweet fire the sire of muse, my soul needs this;
I want the one rapture of an inspiration.
O then if in my lagging lines you miss
The roll, the rise, the carol, the creation,
My winter world, that scarcely breathes that bliss
Now, yields you, with some sighs, our explanation.

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The Wreck of the Deutschland - Gerard Manley Hopkins

"The Wreck of the Deutschland" est un poème long et complexe composé par Hopkins en 1875 et 1876. Il a été inspiré par un événement réel, le naufrage d'un navire allemand nommé le Deutschland. Le poème est à la fois une lamentation pour la tragédie et une méditation sur la foi, en faisant un poème significatif dans l'œuvre d'Hopkins.

De mon point de vue, "The Wreck of the Deutschland" est un poème difficile mais intéressant. Il combine de manière unique et puissante des événements historiques, une réflexion personnelle et une exploration théologique. L'idée ambitieuse de Hopkins et le langage émotif dans ce poème attirent probablement de nombreux lecteurs, malgré sa complexité.

I
Thou mastering me
God! giver of breath and bread;
World's strand, sway of the sea;
Lord of living and dead;
Thou hast bound bones & veins in me, fastened me flesh,
And after it almost unmade, what with dread,
Thy doing: and dost thou touch me afresh?
Over again I feel thy finger and find thee.

I did say yes
O at lightning and lashed rod;
Thou heardst me truer than tongue confess
Thy terror, O Christ, O God;
Thou knowest the walls, altar and hour and night:
The swoon of a heart that the sweep and the hurl of thee trod
Hard down with a horror of height:
And the midriff astrain with leaning of, laced with fire of stress.

The frown of his face
Before me, the hurtle of hell
Behind, where, where was a, where was a place?
I whirled out wings that spell
And fled with a fling of the heart to the heart of the Host.
My heart, but you were dovewinged, I can tell,
Carrier-witted, I am bold to boast,
To flash from the flame to the flame then, tower from the grace to the grace.

I am soft sift
In an hourglass—at the wall
Fast, but mined with a motion, a drift,
And it crowds and it combs to the fall;
I steady as a water in a well, to a poise, to a pane,
But roped with, always, all the way down from the tall
Fells or flanks of the voel, a vein
Of the gospel proffer, a pressure, a principle, Christ's gift.

I kiss my hand
To the stars, lovely-asunder
Starlight, wafting him out of it; and
Glow, glory in thunder;
Kiss my hand to the dappled-with-damson west:
Since, tho' he is under the world's splendour and wonder,
His mystery must be instressed, stressed;
For I greet him the days I meet him, and bless when I understand.

Not out of his bliss
Springs the stress felt
Nor first from heaven (and few know this)
Swings the stroke dealt—
Stroke and a stress that stars and storms deliver,
That guilt is hushed by, hearts are flushed by and melt—
But it rides time like riding a river
(And here the faithful waver, the faithless fable and miss).

It dates from day
Of his going in Galilee;
Warm-laid grave of a womb-life grey;
Manger, maiden's knee;
The dense and the driven Passion, and frightful sweat;
Thence the discharge of it, there its swelling to be,
Though felt before, though in high flood yet—
What none would have known of it, only the heart, being hard at bay,

Is out with it! Oh,
We lash with the best or worst
Word last! How a lush-kept plush-capped sloe
Will, mouthed to flesh-burst,
Gush!—flush the man, the being with it, sour or sweet,
Brim, in a flash, full!—Hither then, last or first,
To hero of Calvary, Christ,'s feet—
Never ask if meaning it, wanting it, warned of it—men go.

Be adored among men,
God, three-numberéd form;
Wring thy rebel, dogged in den,
Man's malice, with wrecking and storm.
Beyond saying sweet, past telling of tongue,
Thou art lightning and love, I found it, a winter and warm;
Father and fondler of heart thou hast wrung:
Hast thy dark descending and most art merciful then.

With an anvil-ding
And with fire in him forge thy will
Or rather, rather then, stealing as Spring
Through him, melt him but master him still:
Whether at once, as once at a crash Paul,
Or as Austin, a lingering-out swéet skíll,
Make mercy in all of us, out of us all
Mastery, but be adored, but be adored King.

II

"Some find me a sword; some
The flange and the rail; flame,
Fang, or flood" goes Death on drum,
And storms bugle his fame.
But wé dréam we are rooted in earth—Dust!
Flesh falls within sight of us, we, though our flower the same,
Wave with the meadow, forget that there must
The sour scythe cringe, and the blear share come.

On Saturday sailed from Bremen,
American-outward-bound,
Take settler and seamen, tell men with women,
Two hundred souls in the round—
O Father, not under thy feathers nor ever as guessing
The goal was a shoal, of a fourth the doom to be drowned;
Yet did the dark side of the bay of thy blessing
Not vault them, the million of rounds of thy mercy not reeve even them in?

Into the snows she sweeps,
Hurling the haven behind,
The Deutschland, on Sunday; and so the sky keeps,
For the infinite air is unkind,
And the sea flint-flake, black-backed in the regular blow,
Sitting Eastnortheast, in cursed quarter, the wind;
Wiry and white-fiery and whirlwind-swivellèd snow
Spins to the widow-making unchilding unfathering deeps.

She drove in the dark to leeward,
She struck—not a reef or a rock
But the combs of a smother of sand: night drew her
Dead to the Kentish Knock;
And she beat the bank down with her bows and the ride of her keel:
The breakers rolled on her beam with ruinous shock;
And canvass and compass, the whorl and the wheel
Idle for ever to waft her or wind her with, these she endured.

Hope had grown grey hairs,
Hope had mourning on,
Trenched with tears, carved with cares,
Hope was twelve hours gone;
And frightful a nightfall folded rueful a day
Nor rescue, only rocket and lightship, shone,
And lives at last were washing away:
To the shrouds they took,—they shook in the hurling and horrible airs.

One stirred from the rigging to save
The wild woman-kind below,
With a rope's end round the man, handy and brave—
He was pitched to his death at a blow,
For all his dreadnought breast and braids of thew:
They could tell him for hours, dandled the to and fro
Through the cobbled foam-fleece, what could he do
With the burl of the fountains of air, buck and the flood of the wave?

They fought with God's cold—
And they could not and fell to the deck
(Crushed them) or water (and drowned them) or rolled
With the sea-romp over the wreck.
Night roared, with the heart-break hearing a heart-broke rabble,
The woman's wailing, the crying of child without check—
Till a lioness arose breasting the babble,
A prophetess towered in the tumult, a virginal tongue told.

Ah, touched in your bower of bone
Are you! turned for an exquisite smart,
Have you! make words break from me here all alone,
Do you!—mother of being in me, heart.
O unteachably after evil, but uttering truth,
Why, tears! is it? tears; such a melting, a madrigal start!
Never-eldering revel and river of youth,
What can it be, this glee? the good you have there of your own?

Sister, a sister calling
A master, her master and mine!—
And the inboard seas run swirling and hawling;
The rash smart sloggering brine
Blinds her; but she that weather sees one thing, one;
Has one fetch in her: she rears herself to divine
Ears, and the call of the tall nun
To the men in the tops and the tackle rode over the storm's brawling.

She was first of a five and came
Of a coifèd sisterhood.
(O Deutschland, double a desperate name!
O world wide of its good!
But Gertrude, lily, and Luther, are two of a town,
Christ's lily and beast of the waste wood:
From life's dawn it is drawn down,
Abel is Cain's brother and breasts they have sucked the same.)

Loathed for a love men knew in them,
Banned by the land of their birth,
Rhine refused them, Thames would ruin them;
Surf, snow, river and earth
Gnashed: but thou art above, thou Orion of light;
Thy unchancelling poising palms were weighing the worth,
Thou martyr-master: in thy sight
Storm flakes were scroll-leaved flowers, lily showers—sweet heaven was astrew in them.

Five! the finding and sake
And cipher of suffering Christ.
Mark, the mark is of man's make
And the word of it Sacrificed.
But he scores it in scarlet himself on his own bespoken,
Before-time-taken, dearest prizèd and priced—
Stigma, signal, cinquefoil token
For lettering of the lamb's fleece, ruddying of the rose-flake.

Joy fall to thee, father Francis,
Drawn to the Life that died;
With the gnarls of the nails in thee, niche of the lance, his
Lovescape crucified
And seal of his seraph-arrival! and these thy daughters
And five-livèd and leavèd favour and pride,
Are sisterly sealed in wild waters,
To bathe in his fall-gold mercies, to breathe in his all-fire glances.

Away in the loveable west,
On a pastoral forehead of Wales,
I was under a roof here, I was at rest,
And they the prey of the gales;
She to the black-about air, to the breaker, the thickly
Falling flakes, to the throng that catches and quails
Was calling "O Christ, Christ, come quickly":
The cross to her she calls Christ to her, christens her wildworst Best.

The majesty! what did she mean?
Breathe, arch and original Breath.
Is it love in her of the being as her lover had been?
Breathe, body of lovely Death.
They were else-minded then, altogether, the men
Woke thee with a we are perishing in the weather of Gennesareth.
Or ís it that she cried for the crown then,
The keener to come at the comfort for feeling the combating keen?

For how to the heart's cheering
The down-dugged ground-hugged grey
Hovers off, the jay-blue heavens appearing
Of pied and peeled May!
Blue-beating and hoary-glow height; or night, still higher,
With belled fire and the moth-soft Milky way,
What by your measure is the heaven of desire,
The treasure never eyesight got, nor was ever guessed what for the hearing?

No, but it was not these.
The jading and jar of the cart,
Time's tasking, it is fathers that asking for ease
Of the sodden-with-its-sorrowing heart,
Not danger, electrical horror; then further it finds
The appealing of the Passion is tenderer in prayer apart:
Other, I gather, in measure her mind's
Burden, in wind's burly and beat of endragonèd seas.

But how shall I . . . make me room there:
Reach me a … Fancy, come faster—
Strike you the sight of it? look at it loom there,
Thing that she … there then! the Master,
Ipse, the only one, Christ, King, Head:
He was to cure the extremity where he had cast her;
Do, deal, lord it with living and dead;
Let him ride, her pride, in his triumph, despatch and have done with his doom there.

Ah! there was a heart right
There was single eye!
Read the unshapeable shock night
And knew the who and the why;
Wording it how but by him that present and past,
Heaven and earth are word of, worded by?—
The Simon Peter of a soul! to the blast
Tarpeian-fast, but a blown beacon of light.

Jesu, heart's light,
Jesu, maid's son,
What was the feast followed the night
Thou hadst glory of this nun?—
Feast of the one woman without stain.
For so conceivèd, so to conceive thee is done;
But here was heart-throe, birth of a brain,
Word, that heard and kept thee and uttered thee outright.

Well, she has thee for the pain, for the
Patience; but pity of the rest of them!
Heart, go and bleed at a bitterer vein for the
Comfortless unconfessed of them—
No not uncomforted: lovely-felicitous Providence
Finger of a tender of, O of a feathery delicacy, the breast of the
Maiden could obey so, be a bell to, ring of it, and
Startle the poor sheep back! is the shipwrack then a harvest, does tempest carry the grain for thee?

I admire thee, master of the tides,
Of the Yore-flood, of the year's fall;
The recurb and the recovery of the gulf's sides,
The girth of it and the wharf of it and the wall;
Staunching, quenching ocean of a motionable mind;
Ground of being, and granite of it: past all
Grasp God, throned behind
Death with a sovereignty that heeds but hides, bodes but abides;

With a mercy that outrides
The all of water, an ark
For the listener; for the lingerer with a love glides
Lower than death and the dark;
A vein for the visiting of the past-prayer, pent in prison,
The-last-breath penitent spirits—the uttermost mark
Our passion-plungèd giant risen,
The Christ of the Father compassionate, fetched in the storm of his strides.

Now burn, new born to the world,
Doubled-naturèd name,
The heaven-flung, heart-fleshed, maiden-furled
Miracle-in-Mary-of-flame,
Mid-numbered he in three of the thunder-throne!
Not a dooms-day dazzle in his coming nor dark as he came;
Kind, but royally reclaiming his own;
A released shower, let flash to the shire, not a lightning of fíre hard-hurled.

Dame, at our door
Drowned, and among our shoals,
Remember us in the roads, the heaven-haven of the Reward:
Our Kíng back, Oh, upon énglish sóuls!
Let him easter in us, be a dayspring to the dimness of us, be a crimson-cresseted east,
More brightening her, rare-dear Britain, as his reign rolls,
Pride, rose, prince, hero of us, high-priest,
Our hearts' charity's hearth's fire, our thoughts' chivalry's throng's Lord.

Biographie de Gerard Manley Hopkins

Gerard Manley Hopkins, prêtre jésuite et poète, a laissé une empreinte profonde sur le paysage de la littérature anglaise avec son style unique et ses thèmes spirituels profonds. Son approche novatrice du mètre, du rythme et du langage, connue sous le nom de "rythme sautillant", a fait de lui un précurseur de la poésie moderniste.

Né le 28 juillet 1844 à Stratford, Essex, Hopkins était l'aîné de neuf enfants dans une famille anglicane aisée. Son éducation précoce, notamment l'intérêt de son père pour la nature, la musique et la poésie, a nourri son inclination poétique. De plus, son amour pour la nature a joué un rôle crucial dans l'imagerie et les thèmes de sa poésie.

Hopkins a étudié les classiques au Balliol College, Oxford, où il s'est converti au catholicisme sous l'influence du Mouvement d'Oxford. Après ses études, il a rejoint la Society of Jesus, décision qui l'a conduit à brûler ses premiers poèmes, les considérant comme incompatibles avec sa vocation. Il a repris l'écriture seulement après avoir été encouragé par son supérieur.

La carrière poétique d'Hopkins est marquée par son style distinctif, qu'il appelait "rythme sautillant" (sprung rhythm). Son travail n'a pas été publié de son vivant, à l'exception de quelques poèmes dans des magazines. "The Wreck of the Deutschland", une ode à cinq religieuses franciscaines noyées dans un naufrage, est l'un de ses poèmes les plus acclamés, admiré pour son rythme innovant et son langage riche. D'autres œuvres significatives, comme "Pied Beauty" et "The Windhover", exposent son intense religiosité et sa fascination pour la beauté et la complexité de la nature.

En tant que jésuite dévoué, sa vie personnelle était remplie de contemplation spirituelle, ce qui a profondément influencé sa poésie. Cependant, ses poèmes révèlent également sa lutte contre ce qu'il appelait "les pensées mélancoliques", reflétant un sentiment de désespoir et de crise spirituelle.

Dans ses dernières années, Hopkins a servi dans diverses capacités au sein de l'ordre jésuite et a été professeur à l'Université Royale d'Irlande. Malgré sa santé précaire et son épuisement, il a continué à écrire jusqu'à sa mort de la fièvre typhoïde le 8 juin 1889.

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