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
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