The song of the Ungirt Runners
We swing ungirded hips,
And lightened are our eyes,
The rain is on our lips,
We do not run for prize,
We know not whom we trust
Not whitherward we fare,
But we run because we must
Through the great wide air.
The waters of the seas
Are troubled as by storm.
The tempest strips the trees
And does not leave them warm.
does the tearing tempest pause?
Does the tree-tops ask it why?
So we run without a cause
Neath the big bare sky.
The rain is on our lips,
We do mot run for prize .
But the storm the water whips
And the wave howls to the skies
The winds arise and strike it
And scatter it like sand,
And we run because we like it
Through the broad bright land.
Charles Hamilton Sorley
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