The Joy of the Hills

I ride on the mountain tops, I ride;I have found my life and am satisfied.Onward I ride in the blowing oats,Checking the field-lark's rippling notes—Lightly I sweepFrom steep to steep:Over my head through the branches highCome glimpses of a rushing sky;The tall oats brush my horse's flanks;Wild poppies crowd on the sunny banks;A bee booms out of the scented grass;A jay laughs with me as I pass.

I ride on the hills, I forgive, I forgetLife's hoard of regret—All the terror and painOf the chafing chain.Grind on, O cities, grind:I leave you a blur behind.I am lifted elate—the skies expand:Here the world's heaped gold is a pile of sand.Let them weary and work in their narrow walls:I ride with the voices of waterfalls!

I swing on as one in a dream—I swingDown the airy hollows, I shout, I sing!The world is gone like an empty word:My body's a bough in the wind, my heart a bird!