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, peerIn shanties, by the sides of roads;And then a quarry pare To fit its sides, and crawl between,Complaining all the whileIn 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.