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, <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 <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 /> <br />Anonymous submission.<br /><br />Gerard Manley Hopkins<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-windhover-to-christ-our-lord/
