Emily Dickinson – I like to see it lap the Miles (43)


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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.

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