The Joy of the Hills I ride on the mountain tops, I ride; From steep to steep: Over my head through the branches high The tall oats brush my horse's flanks; I ride on the hills, I forgive, I forget All the terror and pain The Joy of the Hills 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 In gardens of the Lord, Like flowers of the field they grow In sisterly accord. Their whispering feet are white Along the leafy ways; They go in whirls of light Too beautiful for praise. And in their band forsooth The one that touched my youth- She kindles the desire Whereby the gods survive— The white ideal fire That keeps my soul alive. |