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GerardManley Hopkins : The Windhover1

	To Christ our Lord1
I caught this morning morning's minion2, king-
	dom of daylight's dauphin3, 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 
	wimpling4 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!5

	No wonder of it: shéer plód makes plough down
	sillion6
Shine, and blue-beak embers, ah my dear,
	Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermilion.

GerardManley Hopkins (1844-1889)	1877

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