Tomorrow morning I landed,
The death of daylight, Daffle Dawn Falcon, on horseback
From the level of turnover under him, steady air and at war
Up, how am I riding clean wings?
In your mess! then, turn off until the swing,
When the shoe moves smoothly to bending: the door and the planer
Reject the high wind. My heart is hiding
Mix for the bird, you succeed; part of the installation!
Creepy beauty and daring, and act, oh, look, proud, fool, here
Tighten! And the fire that tears you, billions
Time has said more beautiful, mortal, oh, my traitor!
No wonder Sheer Fruit makes an eagle with a million
Light precious stone and blue and white, my dear,
Fold, fold and throw gold vermilion.
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.
Translation steps: English > Icelandic > Bulgarian > French > English
The original text of this poem is in the public domain.