The Windhover: To Christ our Lord

13 of 73 · 1 min of reading

I CAUGHT this morning morning's minion, king-

dom of daylight's dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Fal-

con, 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 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 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.

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End of part 13 of 73