I like to see it lap the miles,
And lick the valleys up,
And stop to feed itself at tanks;
And then, prodigious, step Around a pile of mountains,
And, supercilious,
In shanties by the sides of roads;
And then a quarry pare To fit its sides, and crawl between,
Complaining all the
In horrid, hooting stanza;
Then chase itself down the hill And neigh like Boanerges;
Then, punctual as a star,
Stop - docile and omnipotent -At its own stable door.
