Amy Lowell (
1874-
1925)
from
A Dome of Many-Coloured Glass (
1912)
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.