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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, | 5 |
| 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 | 10 |
| 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-vermillion.
Happy Easter
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