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.
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Even though agnostic, I am always uplifted by Hopkins' inter-weaving of sound, the sweep and swing of words. This is poetry which attempts to break from the plodding regularity of french-influenced metrical verse. Hopkins brought back beat to English poetry, structuring his verse around stresses in a breath rather than metrical feet.
Thematically, Hopkins found proof of God's existence in the diversity of life around him, and the beauty of everyday things. This poem emphasizing the beauty within, and the joy of mastery.
The final stanza may sound a little odd to us, but that's just vocabulary: the simple act of plowing wears a plow blade to a shine, black embers when they fall split open and glow bright red and gold.
You cannot appreciate this poem unless you read it aloud, and let the natural stresses from the alliteration roll. Don't hold back, what Blake tried to accomplish with symbols, Hopkins accomplishes with sound.
Edited on Jul 22, 12:18 because ''.
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