You can read this at the Poetry Foundation here.
I love this poem not just for its evocation of spring but for its celebration of the trembling, precarious, delicious joy of beginnings—of potential, of that moment before things happen (or in this instance, ‘cloy’). As ever, Hopkins gets so much done in so few words: his characteristic intensity means that even one phrase, scrutinised, yields so much. I was struck this time by ‘thrush … does so rinse and wring/The ear, it strikes like lightnings to hear him sing’. Yes! That sense of simultaneous refreshment and pleasure-so-intense-and-fleeting-that-it’s-painful: how we can be cleaved by beauty simply because it is so beautiful.
Wonder-ful, in the proper sense of the word.