I Like to See it Lap the Miles

By ~ Emily Dickinson

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 ribs,
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.