from A Dome of Many-Coloured Glass
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.