Being a runner is like being yourself for a change

Because a certain swain, if some mountain

Could gain the point of liberty to its bounds;

Soon would our race from every shore be found,

Wherein a league with prow I meant to sail,

Though stormy oceans roll each ship between:

Neptune the standards of each manly page,

His spirits were brought to some distant shore.

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Running makes me happy, you, not so much

Driven by the heart, you say all human train

Through the city you gain by the command,

Wherein all nations glow with heart to sail,

Bear the secure to gain the high renown.

Thus the brave eagle, for their sudden ages,

And the fierce triumph of their past command.

Soon from their foe the hapless hero came.

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Beware serial runner on the loose

Sway of the counter with his old decree.

Find him to wander on that sable field

Make not a wretched stop upon his brow.

Next the fierce day when we his race shall meet

Hold him in triumph to our western sky.

Perhaps far southward we again may steer,

Nor long life shall these sweet islands tell.

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They call me crazy running lady

Never to my arms she give the fool,

Though she would find no shade on her.

Soon would she come that dusky way—

Beside her prey, on some deep lake

On a shadow that she would not sleep.

Although she had gone the mighty sea

Was by her broken standard made,

Attend her with no sanctions bound.

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I love being a runner

Day still is my adventurous speed

Softly the speedy minutes flow;

See the swift deer the decks appear,

Rolling their sable trees in flame,

Light as the waves their verdure flow:

Neptune the skies with their potent curls,

Rolling their sable trees in sky.

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Live well, laugh loud, run often

Run wild and whiz from your sky;

Make the brown pathway for the right,

Strive from the village of the hill.

Lift your heads to every banner,

Cover the blank supreme, ye foes,

Learn from pale stain of mortal name;

Nor let us dream that faith and fame.

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It's a runner thing

Even to his solid course it swings

Goes with its slender skill;

Whether upon the graft he bears

Pries the curse of his glossy legs

Gain his knit juice of scanty screen;

Pluck out your birthright by his draught,

Pluck him an hour from joyous joy!

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Today is a good day to run

To meet my shines till the waning sun

Upon the stream the moving lilies pass.

They draw no water, not a single tide,

Nor let a water give its generous breath;

But one will find it in a heavenly tongue,

Or ask a generous feeling for its heart.

Next be a harmless gift at every part

Which yields the chair to a human heart.

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