Márgarét, are you gríeving

Over Goldengrove unleaving?

Leáves, líke 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.

                        - Gerard Manley Hopkins

G.M.Hopkins (28 July 1844 – 8 June 1889) was an English poet, a Roman Catholic convert, and a Jesuit priest, whose fame established him among the leading 20th-century Victorian poets posthumously.

I love this poem among his others the best because in spite of its simple title, it is about a much more complex subject: human mortality. I also find the poem's progression to the last striking line very unexpected and gentle, which makes the final impact so much stronger.

Any comments are welcome. Thank you.