I came across...

This is to do with poetry, particularly poetry that is about running; about running itself or about Inspiration gained from the act of running. To quote from an article in the Running Times Magazine; 'Running is like music, capable of infinite varieties of mood. We can run in zestful joy, or in somber meditation. Running can be about freedom of movement in contact with Nature; or it can be about the discipline and willpower of competitive effort on a road or track. It can give the rich companionship of running with friends, or the equally rich solitude of running alone. It is a significant part of the lives of millions of people worldwide. Surely it deserves a literature to express and celebrate these different moods and meanings. Poets have written about running ever since Homer and Pindar in Ancient Greece nearly 3,000 years ago, and have sought to make running as memorable and vivid in words as it is in action. Two fine poems from the early 20th century typify the range. One is about the liberty and self-expression that running can bring in a tragic time, the other about the intense fusion of body and spirit in the sprint to the finish of a race'. The first poem was written by a 19-year-old English army officer, Charles Hamilton Sorley, during World War I and the story behind it and the second poem by John Masefield can be read at Running Times Magazine.

The Song of the Ungirt Runners Charles Hamilton Sorley We swing ungirded hips, And lightene'd are our eyes, The rain is on our lips, We do not run for prize. We know not whom we trust Nor whither ward 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. *************************************** The Racer John Masefield I saw the racer coming to the jump, Staring with fiery eyeballs as he rusht. I heard the blood within his body thump, I saw him launch, I heard the toppings crusht. As he landed I beheld his soul Kindle, because, in front he saw the Straight With all its thousands roaring at the goal, He laughed, he took the moment for his mate. Would that the passionate moods on which we ride Might kindle thus to oneness with the will; Would we might see the end to which we stride, And feel, not strain, in struggle, only thrill. And laugh like him and know in all our nerves Beauty, the spirit, scattering dust and turves.