Classic Poem

A song of the morning

O the mountaineer to the summit clear,
The sailor-soul to the sea:
And the driver to his team, and the dreamer to his dream,
But the white high-road for me!
For the sun is awake, and in wood and brake
The birds make glad appeal:
" Come out, come out: there is sport about! "
Then come, my trusty wheel.
Then come with a hum, with a stir, with a whirr:
Thro' the air with a rush run free:
Let the world be abed; I have heard, I have sped,
And the white high-road's for me.

O the hum of the wheel, my steed of steel,
And the rush of the welcoming wind:
I'm a cavalier of old, and my spirit waxeth bold,
For my lady fair is kind.
While her sire's asleep from her pane she'll peep,
She will flutter down to my side;
Come forth, come forth: for the wind blows north —
To the saddle, my own, my bride.
Then, off! we can scoff at the rest: we are blest:
For the wheel runs free, runs true!
What matter the odds? We are kings: we are gods:
And the road's for me and you.

See, the hamlets wake, and the windows shake,
As the good dame smiles to the sun:
And the herd is at the gate, and the milk-pans clash and grate,
And the life of the farm's begun.
O the hill climbs white, but the crest's in sight:
Push on to the lonely tree!
Then the river's streak, and the morning reek,
And the valley for you and me.
Then, oh, for below in the light, left and right,
The fields of our country shine:
Let prophets bray, it is ours for to-day —
This England of yours and mine.

Dear England, bright in the morning light:
Strong Mother of brave men yet;
You have borne us, you have bred us: you have taught us: you have led us!
Not ours to forego, to forget!
And our morning song, as we speed along,
Is swept to the listening sea:
We can keep her still from fear and from ill.
And hold her for ages to be!
Whirl, wheel, soul of steel! Iron heart, bear a part:
As the winds of the world we are free.
We have heard the cry: be it live, be it die, —
Her road is for you and me!