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 wimpled wing 
          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: shéer plód makes plough down sillion 
     Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear, 
          Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermillion.