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: sheer plod
makes plough down sillion
Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear,
Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermilion.
