In other words, let's talk about a bird.
"Windhover" is a British dialect word for a kestral, a small falcon that hovers as it hunts -- soaring on the wind if it can, but with wingbeats if it must. And when a young novice studying for his ordination as a Jesuit priest with a penchant for the medieval philosophy of Duns Scotus saw a windhover hover and dive, it became an example of and metaphor for that flash forth of beauty in everything -- and that of God in everything.
To Christ our Lord
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-vermilion.
A few dangerous glosses -- minion: a favorite, an underling; dauphin: prince; rung: ascended in a spiral (a falconry term); wimpling: rippling; chevalier: knight, champion; plough: plow; sillion: a furrow; gall: to crack or chafe. "Dangerous," because if you see a double-meaning in Hopkins, you should probably understand it both ways. For example, in "dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon," the "drawn" can mean the falcon has been limned by the light OR is drawn to the light OR draws the speaker because it's lit -- or probably all of these at once. "Buckle" could be the collapse (dive) of the bird OR the attachment together of the concepts of the previous line -- or both at once, and probably more. But to get you started, those glosses shouldn't be too harmful.
Now reread that. Aloud, I mean. While you could use a recording, I strongly recommend going DIY for this. Get the feel of the words in your mouth, in your throat, in your breast. And listen for that mystic insight that a young man so struggled to express that he strained syntax and sonnet-form, using the best words he could grasp.
(For possible further reading: a guide by Ange Mlinko)