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.