Willis Cairnes
There’s a certain something about a train
That does things to me I can’t explain.
A whistle, a roar—and a streak of light
Goes plunging headlong into the night,
Hurling itself over gleaming trails
Marked out by the headlights upon the rails.
Just a “whish” and it’s passed me, front to rear,
And I’m watching the markers disappear.
There’s an aching something, away inside,
That’s longing to ride, and ride and ride—
With the rattle of gravel against a tie,
And the clackety-clack as the poles whiz by;
And the musical toll of a crossing-bell
Flung back on the wind, as we race pellmell
Toward some vague, far place in the inky black—
Ah, it’s lonely here by the railroad track!