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Leaves of Grass (1881-82)
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TO A LOCOMOTIVE IN WINTER.
Thee in the driving storm even as now, the snow, the winter-day
declining,
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Thee in thy panoply, thy measur'd dual throbbing and thy beat
convulsive,
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Thy black cylindric body, golden brass and silvery steel, |
Thy ponderous side-bars, parallel and connecting rods, gyrating,
shuttling at thy sides,
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Thy metrical, now swelling pant and roar, now tapering in the
distance,
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Thy great protruding head-light fix'd in front, |
Thy long, pale, floating vapor-pennants, tinged with delicate
purple,
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The dense and murky clouds out-belching from thy smoke-stack, |
Thy knitted frame, thy springs and valves, the tremulous twinkle
of thy wheels,
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Thy train of cars behind, obedient, merrily following, |
Through gale or calm, now swift, now slack, yet steadily careering; |
Type of the modern—emblem of motion and power—pulse of
the continent,
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For once come serve the Muse and merge in verse, even as here
I see thee,
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With storm and buffeting gusts of wind and falling snow, |
By day thy warning ringing bell to sound its notes, |
By night thy silent signal lamps to swing. |
Roll through my chant with all thy lawless music, thy swinging
lamps at night,
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Thy madly-whistled laughter, echoing, rumbling like an earth-
quake, rousing all,
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Law of thyself complete, thine own track firmly holding, |
(No sweetness debonair of tearful harp or glib piano thine,) |
Thy trills of shrieks by rocks and hills return'd, |
Launch'd o'er the prairies wide, across the lakes, |
To the free skies unpent and glad and strong. |
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