Travel
The railroad track is miles away,
And the day is
loud with voices speaking,
Yet there isn't a train goes by all day
But I hear its
whistle shrieking.
All night there isn't a train goes by,
Though the
night is still for sleep and dreaming,
But I see its cinders red on the sky,
And hear its
engine steaming.
My heart is warm with friends I make,
And better
friends I'll not be knowing;
Yet there isn't a train I wouldn't take,
No matter
where it's going.
by Edna St. Vincent Millay
from Second April (1921), available online via Project Gutenberg
courtesy poets.org
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