I ride on the hills, I forgive, I forget

Life's hoard of regret—

All the terror and pain

Of the chafing chain.

Grind on, O cities, grind;

I leave you a blur behind.

I am lifted elate—the skies expand;

Here the world's heaped gold is a pile of sand.

Let them weary and work in their narrow walls;

I ride with the voices of waterfalls!