The Railway Train

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.