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THE CYCLER’S SONG
O. it’s joy to be up in the morning when
The dew is yet on the clover,
And the air is full of a sweetness that
Makes it a draught divine
To mount one’s wheel and go flying away
And away , a rover
In a wide, bright world of beauty; and
All that world is mine!
There’s a breath of balm on the breezes,
A scent of the wayside roses,
A hint of the incense-odors that blow
Through the hillside pines;
And ever a shifting landscape that some
New, bright charm discloses,
As I flash from nooks of shadows to
Plains where the sunlight shines.
I sing in my care free gladness; I am
Kin to the world that’s blowing;
I am thrilled with the bliss of motion
Like the bird that skims the down;
I feel the blood of a gipsy in my pulses
Coming, going!
Give me my wheel for a comrade, and
The king may keep his crown!
[Welland Telegraph May 1900]
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