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The Song of the Ungirt Runners

Written by: Charles Sorley | Biography
 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
 Nor 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?
 Do 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 not 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.



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