i wake and feel the fell of dark, not day

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 lights 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 who 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.

- gerard manley hopkins