Who is this poet?

I came across some poems in a volume of books, and decided this one I found was my new hero. :-D I hadn't read anything by him before, and I wrote down his name and the names of my favorite ones and LOST IT and have no clue which of the books it was at the library I was reading! GRRRR
This is going to be VERY vague, so if you guess it I'll be amazed at you. ROFL
I would guess it was maybe late 1800's? His style was vastly different from the popular style at the time, and I don't think anyone got it until after his death, and many people probably still don't. There seems to be a certain set of about 6 that caught my eye..VERY dark, they're obviously separated from the rest of his works because of this. His style is broken, vague, but to a half-insane person makes perfect sense. There seem to be strong spiritual overtones to his work, perhaps a wrestling with his identity in Christ?
There, my nonprofessional psycho-analysis of a poet. Sound familiar to anyone? I'm tryin' for all I'm worth to remember at least the name of one of the poems!
Gina

 

Thanks Liz, I boomarked it to my favorites list. I'm supposed to not be here right now, but I couldn't get it off my mind and had to keep looking.
I FOUND IT!:-D
Gerard Manley Hopkins, 1844-1889
Went from something to Catholic, then
After graduation he taught for a while and in 1868 became a Jesuit novice at Roehampton until 1870. He then went on to study at Stoneyhurst (1870-3) and was ordained priest in 1877.
Was a greek scholar or something.
ANYHOW, the first poem that caught my attention yesterday was

The Habit of Perfection
ELECTED Silence, sing to me
And beat upon my whorlèd ear,
Pipe me to pastures still and be
The music that I care to hear.

Shape nothing, lips; be lovely-dumb:
It is the shut, the curfew sent
From there where all surrenders come
Which only makes you eloquent.

Be shellèd, eyes, with double dark
And find the uncreated light:
This ruck and reel which you remark
Coils, keeps, and teases simple sight.

Palate, the hutch of tasty lust,
Desire not to be rinsed with wine:
The can must be so sweet, the crust
So fresh that come in fasts divine!

Nostrils, your careless breath that spend
Upon the stir and keep of pride,
What relish shall the censers send
Along the sanctuary side!

O feel-of-primrose hands, O feet
That want the yield of plushy sward,
But you shall walk the golden street,
And you unhouse and house the Lord.

And, Poverty, be thou the bride
And now the marriage feast begun,
And lily-coloured clothes provide
Your spouse not laboured-at, nor spun