| |
|
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: sheer plod makes
plough down sillion
Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah
my dear,
Fall, gall themselves, and gash
gold-vermilion.
|
|
|
