The Windhover by Gerard Manley Hopkins

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. 

Another of my favourite poems (and poet).