When golden sunbeams gleam athwart the sky,
Like Daylight's armies hastening to the sun,
On pinions, swift as light, I seem to fly,
Among the shadows, till the day is done.

My steed of steel, beneath me, seems to know
The joy intense which thrills in every nerve,
And, like a maiden proud her grace to show,
From each obstruction doth unbidden swerve.

The god of day, at the horizon's rim,
Seems lingering there, to watch my silent flight,
And o'er the hills, as though in fear of him,
Peeps the pale moon, the silvery queen of night.

Between those two, the almost silent sound
Of yielding tire, among the drifting leaves,
Sings lullaby, as gliding o'er the ground
I seem to dream, — so well delight deceives.

The shadows lengthen, and the far-off west
Is glowing, with the last long kiss of day.
The song birds, twittering secrets in the nest,
Forget to listen, as I wind my way.

And now a truant squirrel hears my call,
And scampers off, beneath his bushy tail,
Or runs a race along the rough stone wall,
And hides, at last, within a hollow rail.

Oh! Nature finds within the wheelman's heart
An echoing chord for every living thing.
At her command the warm blood seems to start
Through every vein. He cannot help but sing.

And through the stillness, on his homeward way,
The rich notes of his ringing, manly voice
Burst forth, for very joy, into a lay,
Whoever hearing must with him rejoice.