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 —
This is Miss Dickinson's impression of the old coal burning steam locomotive.
That great powerful, hissing, ugly, brutish, unstoppable coal burning
monster that would set in the station waiting to leap across our nation.
That king of power woke me in the nights with it's mournful cry-miss 'um.
School outing in 54, (should I write 1954?) rode in one of those monsters for about 100 miles at age 13, none of us could resist sticking our heads out the windows, getting an eyeful of cinders, still...
I showed two people (Two Young Adults) Emily's poem, they could not decipher what the poem was about. Poor kids, never will get to see
a fire breathing monster up close.