Underneath the Bough: A Book of Verses

The high road stretches straight and white Away To dreamy distance, on and on— The day Dawns sharp and foggy; nips the driver’s Nose, Despite his costly furs. Zounds! How It blows! The motor purrs!—Our mobile seems To fly, Nor touch the ground... (Pneumatic Mystery!) The motor purrs!—Farewell wood, field And stream! Once on the road, we’ve scanty time To dream! The motor purrs!—Look out! A sheer Decline. Temptation whispers: Faster here! It’s fine! Faster? It’s madness! Yes, I know!— But on! Full speed down hill! Another record Gone!... The driver plunges out of view... See, there He climbs the distant slope again. I swear He’d scale Olympus! Yet that course Is clear From many mishaps that beset Us here! We crush a curséd mongrel in The dust! Slow down to miss an English spinster, Just Graze by her on her clumsy, ancient Wheel!— Rout ducks and chickens, set the pigs A-squeal! It’s not our fault! We can’t be kept All day To clear the road!... Speed on!—Away! Away!...