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Poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins


The Windhover


      To Christ our Lord

I CAUGHT this morning mornings minion, king-
  dom of daylights 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 skates 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.



Gerard Manley Hopkins


Gerard Manley Hopkins's other poems:
  1. Harry Ploughman
  2. Ribblesdale
  3. Barnfloor and Winepress
  4. Repeat That, Repeat
  5. Tom's Garland


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