| I CAUGHT this morning morning’s minion, king- |
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| dom of daylight’s dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding |
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| Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding |
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| High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing |
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| In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing, |
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| As a skate’s heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding |
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| Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding |
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| 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 |
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| Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion |
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| Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier! |
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| No wonder of it: shéer plód makes plough down sillion |
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| Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear, |
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| Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermillion. |