A bee booms out of the scented grass;
A jay laughs with me as I pass.
I ride on the hills, I forgive, I forget
Life’s hoard of regret—
All the terror and pain of a 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.