Page:The Man with the Hoe, Markham, 1900.djvu/100



The Joy of the Hills

I ride on the mountain tops, I ride;

I have found my life and am satisfied.

Onward I ride in the blowing oats,

Checking the field-lark's rippling notes—

Lightly I sweep

From steep to steep:

Over my head through the branches high

Come glimpses of a rushing sky;

The tall oats brush my horse's flanks;

Wild poppies crowd on the sunny banks;

A bee booms out of the scented grass;

A jay laughs with me as I pass.

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