I LIKE TO SEE IT LAP THE MILES

The Poem

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 peer 

      In Shanties—by the sides of Roads—

      And then a Quarry pare 

      To fit its Ribs

      And crawl between

      Complaining all the while 

      In horrid—hooting stanza—

      Then chase itself down Hill— 

      And neigh like Boanerges—

      Then—punctual as a Star 

      Stop—docile and omnipotent 

      At its own stable door—