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| A Winter Ride / Amy Lowell |
Who shall declare the
joy of the running!
Who shall tell of the
pleasures of flight!
Springing and spurning
the tufts of wild heather,
Sweeping, wide-winged,
through the blue dome of light.
Everything mortal has
moments immortal,
Swift and God-gifted,
immeasurably bright.
So with the stretch of the
white road before me,
Shining snowcrystals
rainbowed by the sun,
Fields that are white,
stained with long, cool,
blue shadows,
Strong with the strength
of my horse as we run.
Joy in the touch of the
wind and the sunlight!
Joy! With the vigorous
earth I am one.
A Winter Ride / Amy Lowell
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