I awoke in the Midsummer not to call night, in the white and the walk of the morning:
The moon, dwindled and thinned to the fringe of a finger-nail held to the candle, Or paring of paradisaical fruit, lovely in waning but lustreless, Stepped from the stool, drew back from the barrow, of dark Maenefa the mountain; A cusp still clasped him, a fluke yet fanged him, entangled him, not quite utterly. This was the prized, the desirable sight, unsought, presented so easily, Parted me leaf and leaf, divided me, eyelid and eyelid of slumber. Hopkins recalls a night that he was woken up by the moon shining its way to give way to the sun. The sound seems to be one that is a morning, wake-up type of scheme. Then the words relate to that of just awakening to the dawn or dusk of the day. Because of that, Hopkins creates a sound and sense of entanglement and trying to break free from it. The entanglement may be the difficulty to wake up that people mainly show when they are slow to get up when they awaken.
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October 2014
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