The Windhover

To Christ our Lord I 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, aire, 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-vermilion. (Gerard Manley Hopkins, 1877)