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