---

Walt Whitman - To A Locomotive In Winter
Work rating: Medium

THEE for my recitative!
Thee in the driving storm, even as now—the snow—the winter-day
         declining;
Thee in thy panoply, thy measured dual throbbing, and thy beat
         convulsive;
Thy black cylindric body, golden brass, and silvery steel;
Thy ponderous side-bars, parallel and connecting rods, gyrating,
         shuttling at thy sides;
Thy metrical, now swelling pant and roar—now tapering in the
         distance;
Thy great protruding head-light, fix`d in front;
Thy long, pale, floating vapor-pennants, tinged with delicate purple;
The dense and murky clouds out-belching from thy smoke-stack;
Thy knitted frame—thy springs and valves—the tremulous twinkle of
         thy wheels;                                                  


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!
For once, come serve the Muse, and merge in verse, even as here I see
         thee,
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.

Fierce-throated beauty!
Roll through my chant, with all thy lawless music! thy swinging lamps
         at night;
Thy piercing, madly-whistled laughter! thy echoes, rumbling like an
         earthquake, rousing all!                                     


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.
Source
The script ran 0.001 seconds.