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The
Railway Train
by
Emily Dickinson
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 sides, 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.
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