The Windhover

by: Gerard Manley Hopkins

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, 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.

By: Gerard Manley Hopkins