{"id":283,"date":"2011-09-11T22:25:11","date_gmt":"2011-09-12T02:25:11","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/poem.oftheweek.org\/?p=283"},"modified":"2026-10-13T11:18:19","modified_gmt":"2026-10-13T15:18:19","slug":"i-wake-and-feel-the-fell-of-dark-not-day-gerard-manley-hopkins","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/poem.oftheweek.org\/?p=283","title":{"rendered":"I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day &#8211; Gerard Manley Hopkins"},"content":{"rendered":"<p><audio class=\"wp-audio-shortcode\" id=\"audio-283-1\" preload=\"none\" style=\"width: 100%;\" controls=\"controls\"><source type=\"audio\/mpeg\" src=\"https:\/\/poem.oftheweek.org\/audio\/iwakeandfeel.mp3?_=1\" \/><a href=\"https:\/\/poem.oftheweek.org\/audio\/iwakeandfeel.mp3\">https:\/\/poem.oftheweek.org\/audio\/iwakeandfeel.mp3<\/a><\/audio><br \/>\n<span style=\"font-size: xx-small;\">read by Joan Didion. audio from <a href=\"http:\/\/www.amazon.com\/Knopf-National-Poetry-Month-Collection\/dp\/0739343319\" target=\"blank\">The Knopf National Poetry Month Collection<\/a>.<\/span><\/p>\n<p>I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day.<br \/>\nWhat hours, O what black hours we have spent<br \/>\nThis night! what sights you, heart, saw; ways you went!<br \/>\nAnd more must, in yet longer light&#8217;s delay.<br \/>\nWith witness I speak this. But where I say<br \/>\nHours I mean years, mean life. And my lament<br \/>\nIs cries countless, cries like dead letters sent<br \/>\nTo dearest him that lives alas! away.<\/p>\n<p>I am gall, I am heartburn. God&#8217;s most deep decree<br \/>\nBitter would have me taste: my taste was me;<br \/>\nBones built in me, flesh filled, blood brimmed the curse.<br \/>\nSelfyeast of spirit a dull dough sours. I see<br \/>\nThe lost are like this, and their scourge to be<br \/>\nAs I am mine, their sweating selves; but worse.<\/p>\n<p><span style=\"font-size: xx-small;\">(1918)<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>read by Joan Didion. audio from The Knopf National Poetry Month Collection. 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&#8217;s delay. With witness I speak this. But [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[9,66],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-283","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-audio","category-dull-dough"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/poem.oftheweek.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/283","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/poem.oftheweek.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/poem.oftheweek.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/poem.oftheweek.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/poem.oftheweek.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=283"}],"version-history":[{"count":18,"href":"https:\/\/poem.oftheweek.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/283\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":561,"href":"https:\/\/poem.oftheweek.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/283\/revisions\/561"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/poem.oftheweek.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=283"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/poem.oftheweek.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=283"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/poem.oftheweek.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=283"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}