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: shéer plód makes plough down sillion
Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear,
Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermillion.
Gerald Manley Hopkins
I hurled this evening, evening’s eager expressions,
Lumbering ludicrous language,
Issued from fingers fumbling at metallic keys,
I chopped, slashed, sliced, and diced as they fell, and
Brightened and burnished the brilliance
That lay locked within
Lines upon lines of lifeless limbless letters
Till it emerged, sparkling and seductive,
Like Venus
Full of promise and pleasure
No wonder then: an editor must be cruel
Her vicious wounds on paper
Tracked in green and red and purple
Will bleed till fame and money make a happy clot
ME
