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-vermilion