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 trustNor whitherward we fare,But we run because we must Through the great wide air.The waters of the seasAre troubled as by storm.The tempest strips the treesAnd 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 whipsAnd the wave howls to the skies.The winds arise and strike itAnd scatter it like sand,And we run because we like it Through the broad bright land.