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
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.

— Amy Lowell