The Windhover

The Windhover


by Gerard Manley Hopkins


Caught this morning morning's minion, king-
dom of daylight's dauphin,
dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding
Of the rolling level underneath him steady air,
and striding
High there, how he rung upon the rein
of a wimpling wing
In his ecstasy! 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 hiding
Stirred 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 billion
Times told lovelier, more dangerous,
O my chevalier!

No wonder of it:
shéer plód makes plough down sillion
Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear,
Fall, gall themselves,
and gash gold-vermillion.

Posted over on Poets.Org