| 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. |
| Green letters mark alliteration |
| Dark green letters mark other forms of consonance |
| Red letters mark single syllable end rhyme |
| Purple letters mark penultimate syllable end rhyme |
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