The Windhover
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o Christ our Lord_ I CAUGHT this morning morning's minion, king- dom of daylight's dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Fal- con, in his ridingOf the rolling level underneath him steady air, and stridingHigh there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wingIn his ecstacy! then off, off forth on swing, As a skate's heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hidingStirred for a bird,--the achieve of, the mastery of the thing! Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billionTimes told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier! No wonder of it: sheer plod makes plough down sillionShine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear, Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermillion.
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