Emily Dickinson — I like to see it lap the Miles

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