The Kite

 I caught this dawn dawn's dear, realm
   Of day's prince, dawn-dot-drawn Hawk in his ride
   Of the rolls down firm from him smooth air, and stride
 High there, how he rung on the rein of a wing like a wave
 In his joy! then off, off forth on swing,
   As a skate's heel sweeps smooth on a bend of a bow: the hurl and glide
   Beats back the big wind.  The heart I hide
 Stirred for a bird -- the do of, the rule of the thing!

 Brute grace and brave and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here
   Snap! AND the flame that breaks from thee then, a lot of
 Times told more graced, less safe, O my knight!

   No awe for it: sheer plod makes plough down a row
 Shine, and bleak blue coals, ah my dear,
   Fall, gall each, and gash gold-red.

                                -- Dad Small Hops