Sunday, September 23, 2012

Going down hill on a bicycle. A boy's song.

WITH lifted feet, hands still,
I am poised, and down the hill
Dart, with heedful mind;
The air goes by in a wind.

Swifter and yet more swift,
Till the heart with a mighty lift
Makes the lungs laugh, the throat cry:--
'O bird, see; see, bird, I fly.

'Is this, is this your joy?
O bird, then I, though a boy
For a golden moment share
Your feathery life in air!'

Say, heart, is there aught like this
In a world that is full of bliss?
'Tis more than skating, bound
Steel-shod to the level ground.

Speed slackens now, I float
Awhile in my airy boat;
Till, when the wheels scarce crawl,
My feet to the treadles fall.

Alas, that the longest hill
Must end in a vale; but still,
Who climbs with toil, wheresoe'er,
Shall find wings waiting there.


By Henry Charles Beeching
1859-1919 * 

I found it especially interesting that this poem was written in the late 19th or early 20th century. It goes to show how little the feeling of freedom we feel while cycling has changed over the last 100 years. Whether your on a high-end carbon fiber spaceship or a penny-farthing little has changed.

                        S. Monkey
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