I like to see it lap the miles,
And lick the valleys up,
And stop to feed itself at ranks
And than prodigious, step
Around a bile of mountain,
And, supercilious, peer
In shanties by the sides of roads,
And then a quarry pare
To fit its sides, and crawl between,
Complaining all the while
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.