Classic and Contemporary Poetry
TO MY READERS, by ALEXANDER ANDERSON Poet's Biography First Line: A worker on the rail, where, day by day Last Line: This book of railway song. Alternate Author Name(s): Surfaceman Subject(s): Labor & Laborers; Railroads; Work; Workers; Railways; Trains | ||||||||
A WORKER on the rail, where, day by day, The engine storms along, And sends forth, as he thunders on his way, Wild strains of eagle song. Or toiling on with heavy pant and strain, As if within his breast A god, bound by some splendid doom to pain, Lies in his wild unrest; And struggles like Enceladus, until, Through all his shining length, Each fire-fed sinew answers with a thrill, And shakes and gleams with strength. Then the wild vigour, shooting to its point Of madness, fills each limb That strides with one great sweep from joint to joint Of rails, that under him Bend, as they feel his sudden certain grasp, Or quiver as he reels, And slips and slides with sullen grind and rasp Of sternly-rolling wheels. Or in the night, when darkness, like a veil, Curtains the sleep of earth, He flares along the pathway of the rail Like a Titanic birth Of some great monster from whose throat, as when A new volcano wars, A million sparks of fire burst up, and then Fall down like mimic stars: As with unwinking eye of glowing white He tears the night apart, And with broad spears of palpitating light (The lightnings of his heart), He shears the midnight with its shadowy shrouds, Till every breath and pant Mirrors and paints itself against the clouds, Like northern lights aslant. And swift as thoughts fling arches over space In some worn giant's dream, He rushes, crown'd with flame, upon his race, The god of fire and steam! Nay, when far out among the hills I lie Beside the moorland streams, Hearing them whisper forth with lulling sigh Their little hopes and dreams: He follows still, and from the distant bound, His whistle echoes shrill, Lapping with an invisible wave of sound Each rift and shore of hill; Or in the city, when I pace the street, At one with all my kind, Dreaming I hear in all the tramp of feet The steady march of mind, Moving to silent battles still unfought, And seeing far on high Standards, which truth with her own hands has wrought For men to guard or die. And hearing the firm tramp of peoples strong In the high rights of man, I move, as if one of the fearless throng, A footstep from the van. Till, worthy climax to my dreams, the black Wild monster rushes on, Along great arches that uprear their back, Like Atlases of stone. And linking surging street to street, he seems Aglow with dusky scorn, The swart apostle preaching wondrous dreams Of days and years unborn. For with him, like a prophecy that raves Of some wild fruitful deed, Go the great energies that kneel like slaves Wherever men have need. What marvel, then, that seeing, day by day, The engine rush along, That I send you, from out the "four-feet way," This book of railway song. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE RAILWAY by ARTHUR CHRISTOPHER BENSON WHAT WE DID TO WHAT WE WERE by PHILIP LEVINE BURYING GROUND BY THE TIES by ARCHIBALD MACLEISH WAY-STATION by ARCHIBALD MACLEISH TWILIGHT TRAIN by EILEEN MYLES THE CAVEMAN ON THE TRAIN by JOHN FREDERICK NIMS CUDDLE DOON by ALEXANDER ANDERSON A SONG FOR MY FELLOWS by ALEXANDER ANDERSON A SONG OF LABOUR; DEDICATED TO MY FELLOW-WORKERS WITH PICK AND SHOVEL by ALEXANDER ANDERSON |
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