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 sweep From steep to steep: Over my head through the branches high Come 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 forget Life's hoard of regret— All the terror and pain Of 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 swing Down 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! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE ORANGE PICKER by DAVID IGNATOW THE BOOK OF STONES AND LILIES by AMY LOWELL BETRAND AND GOURGAUD TALK OVER OLD TIMES by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SONG OF THE MOON by CLAUDE MCKAY HOMAGE TO SEXTUS PROPERTIUS: 9 by EZRA POUND |