A jubilant reach of rolling road And a new-made morning sky, Masterful muscles that need no goad, And a spirit that dances high! Then a-swing and a-plod through a dozen miles Of the fragrance of ferns and hay, Of woodsy shadows and meadow smiles And the sweet of the blossoming day! Oh, what are the heapings of pride and pelf, The sum of an emperor's bliss, When a man may have the whole earth to himself On a glorious morning like this? I am knee-deep now in the level gold, And eye-deep now in delight, And the prospect wide from the hill outrolled Is mine by imperial right. Riches and riches, and all of it mine! The meadow's unmarketed goods, The river Golcondas that secretly shine, And the wealth of the opulent woods. No need to beg, for it presses hard And offers itself to me; And happy the heart that is all unbarred To the lavishing ministry. So a-swing and a-plod through the opening day, And the joy of a virginal sun, While the air is unsullied and vibrant and gay, And the earth and the sky are at one; Till the masterly muscles are blessedly worn, The miles are triumphantly trod, And the soul is aglow with a benison, born Of vigor, and nature, and God! |