The Windhover
by Gerard
Manley Hopkins
To Christ our Lord
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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!
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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!
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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.
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Gerard
Manley Hopkins
| Classic Poems
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[ The Sea and the Skylark ] [ Windhover ] [ Spring ] [ Hurrahing in Harvest ] [ God's Grandeur ] [ The Wreck of the Deutschland ] [ The Caged Skylark ] [ Moonrise ] [ Inversnaid ] [ Pied Beauty ] [ as kingfishers catch fire ] [ In The Valley of the Elwy ] [ The May Magnificat ] |
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