THE WHEELMAN'S JOY
By Paul Pastor, Outing and the Wheelman, November, 1883, p. 143.

The shadow of my silent steed
Flies over hill and vale,
As swiftly as the clouds that speed
On Notus' fav'ring gale.

No whip, no spur, its sleek thigh wounds;
Nor galls the chafing rein;
But, free as Helios' steed, it bounds
Along the shining plain.

Fly on, fly on, my glorious wheel,
And round the belted earth
Go flashing with thy spokes of steel,
Like star on heaven's girth!

My toils, my cares I leave behind;
Away, away I spin.
The birds that travel on the wind
Seem all my kith and kin.

Look how the groves go by the fields,
The fields go by the groves!
What joy the flying 'cycle yields,
As swiftly on it moves!

Now cleaving with its noiseless hoof
The white dust of the plain;
Now sliding down the mountain's roof
Like a silver drop of rain!

Oh, merry are the wheelman's days;
His dreams are deep and sweet;
He glides down all life's troubled ways
With velvet 'neath his feet!

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