What Goes Up Must Come Down

Going down Hill on a Bicycle, a Boy's Song


By Henry Charles Beeching

1859-1919

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WITH lifted feet, hands still,

I am poised, and down the hill

Dart, with heedful mind;

The air goes by in a wind.



Swifter and yet more swift,

Till the heart with a mighty lift

Makes the lungs laugh, the throat cry: --

'O bird, see; see, bird, I fly.



'Is this, is this your joy?

O bird, then I, though a boy

For a golden moment share

Your feathery life in air!'



Say, heart, is there aught like this

In a world that is full of bliss?

'Tis more than skating, bound

Steel-shod to the level ground.



Speed slackens now; I float

Awhile in my airy boat;

Till, when the wheels scarce crawl,

My feet to the treadles fall.



Alas, that the longest hill

Must end in a vale; but still,

Who climbs with toil, wheresoever’s,

Shall find wings waiting there.