To Christ our Lord <br /> <br /> <br />I CAUGHT this morning morning’s minion, king- <br />dom of daylight’s dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding <br />Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding <br />High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing <br />In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing, 5 <br />As a skate’s heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding <br />Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding <br />Stirred for a bird, —the achieve of; the mastery of the thing! <br /> <br />Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here <br />Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion 10 <br />Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier! <br /> <br />No wonder of it: shéer plód makes plough down sillion <br />Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear, <br />Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermillion.<br /><br />Gerard Manley Hopkins<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-windhover/
