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Bibliographic Information Auth … Bibliographic Information Author Cummings, Edward Estline Genre Poetry Journal or Book E.E. Cummings: Complete Poems 1904-1962 Publisher Liveright Year of Publication 1916 Pages 940-941 Additional information - don't get me wrong oblivion I never loved you kiddo you that was always sticking around spoiling me for everyone else telling me how it would make you nutty if I didn’t let you go the distance and I gave you my breasts to feel didn’t I and my mouth to kiss O I was too good to you oblivion old kid that’s all and when I might have told you to go ahead and croak yourselflike you was always threatening you was going to do I didn’t I said go on you inter- est me I let you hang around and whimper and I’ve been getting mine Listen there’s a fellow I love like I never love anyone else that’s six foot two tall with a face like any girl would die to kiss and a skin like a little kitten’s that’s asked me to go to Murray’s tonight with him and see the cab- aret and dance you know well if he asks me to take another I’m going to and if he asks me to take another after that I’m going to do that and if he puts me into a taxi and tells the driver to take her easy and steer for the morning I’m going to let him and if he starts in right away putting it to me in the cab I’m not going to whisper oblivion do you get me not that I’m tired of automats and Childs’s and handling out ribbon to old ladies that ain’t got three teeth and being followed home by pimps and stewed guys and sleeping lonely in a whitewashed room three thou- sand below Zero oh no I could stand that but it’s that I’m O Gawd how tired of seeing the white face of you and feeling the old hands of you and being teased and jollied about you and being prayed and implored and bribed and threatened to give you my beautiful white body kiddo that’s why car driving driver urban affect passenger +
Bibliographic Information Auth … Bibliographic Information Author Dunbar, Paul Laurence Genre Poetry Journal or Book The Complete Poems of Paul Laurence Dunbar Publisher Dodd , Mead , and Company Year of Publication 1913 Pages 214-215 Additional information - Let those who will stride on their barren roads And prick themselves to haste with self-made goads, Unheeding, as they struggle day by day, If flowers be sweet or skies be blue or gray: For me, the lone, cool way by purling brooks, The solemn quiet of the woodland nooks, A song-bird somewhere trilling sadly gay, A pause to pick a flower beside the way. road class metaphor plant sky forest animal affect road side forest animal affect road side +
Bibliographic Information Auth … Bibliographic Information Author Frost, Robert Genre Poetry Journal or Book North of Boston Publisher David Nutt Year of Publication 1914 Pages 59-66 Additional information - " You ought to have seen what I saw on my way To the village, through Mortenson's pasture to-day : Blueberries as big as the end of your thumb, Real sky-blue, and heavy, and ready to drum In the cavernous pail of the first one to come ! And all ripe together, not some of them green And some of them ripe ! You ought to have seen ! " road village roadside plant affect pleasure " I don't know what part of the pasture you mean." " You know where they cut off the woods—let me see— It was two years ago—or no !—can it be No longer than that ?—and the following fall The fire ran and burned it all up but the wall." " Why, there hasn't been time for the bushes to grow. That's always the way with the blueberries, though : There may not have been the ghost of a sign Of them anywhere under the shade of the pine, But get the pine out of the way, you may burn The pasture all over until not a fern Or grass-blade is left, not to mention a stick, And presto, they're up all around you as thick And hard to explain as a conjuror's trick." “ It must be on charcoal they fatten their fruit. I taste in them sometimes the flavour of soot. And after all really they're ebony skinned : The blue's but a mist from the breath of the wind, A tarnish that goes at a touch of the hand, And less than the tan with which pickers are tanned." " Does Mortenson know what he has, do you think ? " " He may and not care and so leave the chewink To gather them for him—you know what he is. He won't make the fact that they're rightfully his An excuse for keeping us other folk out." " I wonder you didn't see Loren about." " The best of it was that I did. Do you know, I was just getting through what the field had to show And over the wall and into the road, When who should come by, with a democrat-load Of all the young chattering Lorens alive, But Loren, the fatherly, out for a drive." road agriculture road condition " He saw you, then ? What did he do ? Did he frown ? " " He just kept nodding his head up and down. You know how politely he always goes by. But he thought a big thought—I could tell by his eye— Which being expressed, might be this in effect : ' I have left those there berries, I shrewdly suspect, To ripen too long. I am greatly to blame.' " " He's a thriftier person than some I could name." " He seems to be thrifty ; and hasn't he need, With the mouths of all those young Lorens to feed ? He has brought them all up on wild berries, they say, Like birds. They store a great many away. They eat them the year round, and those they don't eat They sell in the store and buy shoes for their feet." " Who cares what they say ? It's a nice way to live, Just taking what Nature is willing to give, Not forcing her hand with harrow and plow. “ “I wish you had seen his perpetual bow— And the air of the youngsters ! Not one of them turned, And they looked so solemn-absurdly concerned.” car “ I wish I knew half what the flock of them know Of where all the berries and other things grow, Cranberries in bogs and raspberries on top Of the boulder-strewn mountain, and when they will crop. I met them one day and each had a flower Stuck into his berries as fresh as a shower ; Some strange kind—they told me it hadn't a name. " car metaphor " He seems to be thrifty ; and hasn't he need, With the mouths of all those young Lorens to feed ? He has brought them all up on wild berries, they say, Like birds. They store a great many away. They eat them the year round, and those they don't eat They sell in the store and buy shoes for their feet." " Who cares what they say ? It's a nice way to live, Just taking what Nature is willing to give, Not forcing her hand with harrow and plow. “ “I wish you had seen his perpetual bow— And the air of the youngsters ! Not one of them turned, And they looked so solemn-absurdly concerned.” “ I wish I knew half what the flock of them know Of where all the berries and other things grow, Cranberries in bogs and raspberries on top Of the boulder-strewn mountain, and when they will crop. I met them one day and each had a flower Stuck into his berries as fresh as a shower ; Some strange kind—they told me it hadn't a name. " " I've told you how once not long after we came, I almost provoked poor Loren to mirth By going to him of all people on earth To ask if he knew any fruit to be had For the picking. The rascal, he said he'd be glad To tell if he knew. But the year had been bad. There had been some berries—but those were all gone. He didn't say where they had been. He went on : ' I'm sure—I'm sure '—as polite as could be. He spoke to his wife in the door, ' Let me see, Mame, we don't know any good berrying place ? ' It was all he could do to keep a straight face. " If he thinks all the fruit that grows wild is for him, He'll find he's mistaken. See here, for a whim, We'll pick in the Mortensons' pasture this year. We'll go in the morning, that is, if it's clear, And the sun shines out warm : the vines must be wet. It's so long since I picked I almost forget How we used to pick berries : we took one look round, Then sank out of sight like trolls underground, And saw nothing more of each other, or heard, Unless when you said I was keeping a bird Away from its nest, and I said it was you. ' Well, one of us is.' For complaining it flew Around and around us. And then for a while We picked, till I feared you had wandered a mile, And I thought I had lost you. I lifted a shout Too loud for the distance you were, it turned out, For when you made answer, your voice was as low As talking—you stood up beside me, you know. " We shan't have the place to ourselves to enjoy— Not likely, when all the young Lorens deploy. They'll be there to-morrow, or even to-night. They won't be too friendly—they may be polite— To people they look on as having no right To pick where they're picking. But we won't complain. You ought to have seen how it looked in the rain, The fruit mixed with water in layers of leaves, Like two kinds of jewels, a vision for thieves." +
Bibliographic Information Auth … Bibliographic Information Author H.D. (Hilda Doolittle) Genre Poetry Journal or Book - Publisher - Year of Publication 1916 Pages 44-46 Additional information - metaphysics Can we believe—by an effort comfort our hearts: it is not waste all this, not placed here in disgust, street after street, each patterned alike, no grace to lighten a single house of the hundred crowded into one garden-space. street town urban affect Crowded—can we believe, not in utter disgust, in ironical play— but the maker of cities grew faint with the beauty of temple and space before temple, arch upon perfect arch, of pillars and corridors that led out to strange court-yards and porches where sun-light stamped hyacinth-shadows black on the pavement. urban town architecture affect road That the maker of cities grew faint with the splendour of palaces, paused while the incense-flowers from the incense-trees dropped on the marble-walk, thought anew, fashioned this— street after street alike. urban town metaphor plant tree roadside road affect For alas, he had crowded the city so full that men could not grasp beauty, beauty was over them, through them, about them, no crevice unpacked with the honey, rare, measureless. So he built a new city, ah can we believe, not ironically but for new splendour constructed new people to lift through slow growth to a beauty unrivalled yet— and created new cells, hideous first, hideous now— spread larve across them, not honey but seething life. And in these dark cells, packed street after street, souls live, hideous yet— O disfigured, defaced, with no trace of the beauty men once held so light. street town urban affect Can we think a few old cells were left—we are left— grains of honey, old dust of stray pollen dull on our torn wings, we are left to recall the old streets ? street town urban affect nostalgia Is our task the less sweet that the larve still sleep in their cells? Or crawl out to attack our frail strength: You are useless. We live. We await great events. We are spread through this earth. We protect our strong race. You are useless. Your cell takes the place of our young future strength. Though they sleep or wake to torment and wish to displace our old cells— thin rare gold— that their larve grow fat— is our task the less sweet? Though we wander about, find no honey of flowers in this waste, is our task the less sweet— who recall the old splendour, await the new beauty of cities? +
Before editing pages make sure you have th … Before editing pages make sure you have the necessary Editor rights. Texts How to create new Category:Texts pages and annotate paragraphs. Enter the name of the page. The name is relevant for searching and should be the same as the title of the text. Metadata Insert a <meta> section. Note: Attributes like genre are case sensitive! <meta author="Dreiser, Theodore;Sandburg, Carl;Sinclair, Lewis" additional_information="Info text here.." genre="Novel,Thriller" journal="Journal1, Journal2" publisher="Publisher1, Publisher2" year_of_publication="2000,2001" page_range="1-10"/> The author attribute can have multiple values separated by a ";" semicolon. The attributes genre, journal, publisher, year_of_publication can have multiple values separated by a "," comma. Attributes can be omitted completely and are shown as "-" in the Bibliographic Information section on the text page. Annotations Its best to look at already annotated pages to get a feeling for how the markup works. Put all annotations inside <annotations>...</annotations> elements. Define paragraphs via <paragraph keywords="keyword1,keyword2">paragraph text</paragraph> The keywords attribute can have multiple values separated by a "," comma. There can be multiple paragraphs. Use <pagenr>(1)</pagenr> elements to display page number information inside paragraphs. Use <poem>...</poem> inside paragraphs to keep formatting exactly like in the editor. See Extension:Poem for further formatting instructions. Use wikitext like == CHAPTER I == between paragraphs for headlines and other wiki markup for styling. See Help:Formatting for information on formatting syntax. Authors How to create new Category:Authors pages. Enter the name of the author. This should always follow the same naming convention throughout the wiki e.g. Frost, Robert . Insert an author infobox and related texts section with the following wikitext: {{Infobox Author| gender = Male| ethnicity = African, American| nationality = African| life span = quite long}} The ethnicity parameter can have multiple values separated by a "," comma. Attributes can be omitted completely and are shown as "-" in the Bibliographic Information section on the author page. nationality and life span are not used for searching and can therefore contain any text. Examples Click on Actions->Edit on an existing page like Off_the_Highway or Frost, Robert to see examples of working edits. Special Pages Use Mediawiki:Sidebar to edit the navigation bar items. Edit MediaWiki:Common.css to change the styling of the wiki. Scroll down to /* OFFTHEROAD CUSTOM CSS SECTION */ to find custom styling for the offroad wiki. Edit MediaWiki:Text Template to change the preloaded text for new Category:Texts pages. Edit MediaWiki:Author Template to change the preloaded text for new Category:Authors pages. Extensions See Special:Version for details. Composer SemanticBundle Extension Directory OffTheRoad WikiSearch WikiSearchFront YouTube WSSemanticParsedText ArrayFunctions (at least version 1.42 for the caseinsensitive option) SemanticBundle SemanticMediaWiki PageForms Other These come bundled with the above setup. PdfHandler ParserFunctions Poem InputBox TemplateDataThese come bundled with the above setup. PdfHandler ParserFunctions Poem InputBox TemplateData +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Aldington, Richard Genre Poetry Journal or Book Some Imagist Poets: An Anthology Publisher Houghton Mifflin Company Year of Publication 1915 Pages 10-11 Additional information - tree Why do you always stand there shivering Between the white stream and the road? river roadside temperature The people pass through the dust On bicycles, in carts, in motor-cars; The waggoners go by at dawn; The lovers walk on the grass path at night. dust bicycle car road scenery Stir from your roots, walk, poplar! You are more beautiful than they are. I know that the white wind loves you, Is always kissing you and turning up The white lining of your green petticoat. The sky darts through you like blue rain, And the grey rain drips on your flanks And loves you. And I have seen the moon Slip his silver penny into your pocket As you straightened your hair; And the white mist curling and hesitating Like a bashful lover about your knees. tree I know you, poplar; I have watched you since I was ten. But if you had a little real love, A little strength, You would leave your nonchalant idle lovers And go walking down the white road Behind the waggoners. tree anthropomorphism road pedestrian There are beautiful beeches down beyond the hill. Will you always stand there shivering?l. Will you always stand there shivering? +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Aldington, Richard Genre Poetry Journal or Book - Publisher - Year of Publication 1928 Pages 152 Additional information - Deadness of English winter, dreariness, cold sky over provincial towns, mist. Melancholy of undulating trams solitary jangling through muddy streets, narrowness, imperfection, dullness, black extinguisher over English towns; mediocre women in dull clothes— their nudity a disaster— heavy cunning men (guts and passbooks), relics of gentry, workmen on bicycles, puffy small whores, baby carriages, shops, newspapers, bets, cinemas, allotments . . . traffic mud road condition fog winter bicycle pedestrian road side town These are your blood; their begetters made in the same bed as yours (horror of copulation), colossal promiscuity of flesh through centuries (seed and cemeteries). Sculptor! show Mars bloody in gas-lit abattoirs, Apollo organist of Saint Mary's, Venus of High Street, Athena, worshipped at National schools. Painter! there are beets in allotments, embankments, coal-yards, villas, grease, interpret the music, orchestra, trams, trains, cars, hobnails, factories— O poet! chant them to the pianola, to the metronome in faultless verse . . . car sound town train other mobilities road urban mobilities road urban +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Aldington, Richard Genre Poetry Journal or Book - Publisher - Year of Publication 1928 Pages 52 Additional information - Vagabonds of beauty, Wistful, exquisite waifs From a lost, and a forgotten, and a lovely land, We cannot comfort you Though our souls yearn for you. car metaphor affect You are delicate strangers In a gloomy town, Stared at and hated— Gold crocus blossoms in a drab lane. city affect road metaphor We cannot comfort you; Your life is anguish; All we can do— Mutely bring pungent herbs and branches of oak And resinous scented pine wreaths To hide the crown of thorny pain Crushing your white frail foreheads. road road condition car metaphor affect plant car metaphor affect plant +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Auden, Wystan Hugh Genre Poetry Journal or Book W. H. Auden Poems Publisher Faber and Faber Year of Publication 1930 Pages 65-68 Additional information - Get there if you can and see the land you once were proud to own Though the roads have almost vanished and the expresses never run: nostalgia road Smokeless chimneys, damaged bridges, rotting wharves and choked canals, Tramlines buckled, smashed trucks lying on their side across the rails; infrastructure bridge truck Power-stations locked, deserted, since they drew the boiler fires; Pylons fallen or subsiding, trailing dead high-tension wires; infrastructure Head-gears gaunt on grass-grown pit-banks, seams abandoned years ago; Drop a stone and listen for its splash in flooded dark below. Squeeze into the works through broken windows or through damp-sprung doors; See the rotted shafting, see holes gaping in the upper floors; Where the Sunday lads come talking motor bicycle and girl, Smoking cigarettes in chains until their heads are in a whirl. motorcycle Far from there we spent the money, thinking we could well afford, While they quietly undersold us with their cheaper trade abroad; At the theatre, playing tennis, driving motor cars we had, In our continental villas, mixing cocktails for a cad. driving These were boon companions who devised the legends for our tombs, These who have betrayed us nicely while we took them to our rooms. Newman, Ciddy, Plato, Fronny, Pascal, Bowdler, Baudelaire, Doctor Frommer, Mrs Allom, Freud, the Baron, and Flaubert. Lured with their compelling logic, charmed with beauty of their verse, With their loaded sideboards whispered ‘Better join us, life is worse.’ Taught us at the annual camps arranged by the big business men ‘Sunbathe, pretty till you’re twenty. You shall be our servants then.’ Perfect pater. Marvellous mater. Knock the critic down who dares — Very well, believe it, copy; till your hair is white as theirs. Yours you say were parents to avoid, avoid then if you please Do the reverse on all occasion till you catch the same disease. When we asked the way to Heaven, these directed us ahead To the padded room, the clinic and the hangman’s little shed. Intimate as war-time prisoners in an isolation camp, Living month by month together, nervy, famished, lousy, damp. On the sopping esplanade or from our dingy lodgings we Stare out dully at the rain which falls for miles into the sea. Lawrence, Blake and Homer Lane, once healers in our English land; These are dead as iron for ever; these can never hold our hand. Lawrence was brought down by smut-hounds, Blake went dotty as he sang, Homer Lane was killed in action by the Twickenham Baptist gang. Have things gone too far already? Are we done for? Must we wait Hearing doom’s approaching footsteps regular down miles of straight; Run the whole night through in gumboots, stumble on and gasp for breath, Terrors drawing close and closer, winter landscape, fox’s death; Or, in friendly fireside circle, sit and listen for the crash Meaning that the mob has realized something’s up, and start to smash; Engine-drivers with their oil-cans, factory girls in overalls Blowing sky-high monster stores, destroying intellectuals? resources oil engine driver sky pollution metaphor Hope and fear are neck and neck: which is it near the course’s end Crashes, having lost his nerve; is overtaken on the bend? crash Shut up talking, charming in the best suits to be had in town, Lecturing on navigation while the ship is going down. Drop those priggish ways for ever, stop behaving like a stone: Throw the bath-chairs right away, and learn to leave ourselves alone. If we really want to live, we’d better start at once to try; If we don’t, it doesn’t matter, but we’d better start to die. +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Auden, Wystan Hugh Genre Poetry Journal or Book - Publisher - Year of Publication 1928 Pages 40-41 Additional information - Between attention and attention The first and last decision Is mortal distraction Of earth and air, Further and nearer, The vague wants Of days and nights, And personal error; And the fatigued face. Taking the strain Of the horizontal force And the vertical thrust, Makes random answer To the crucial test; The uncertain flesh Scraping back chair For the wrong train, Falling in slush, Before a friend’s friends Or shaking hands With a snub-nosed winner. traffic train metaphor The opening window, closing door, Open, close, but not To finish or restore; These wishes get No further than The edges of the town, And leaning asking from the car Cannot tell us where we are; While the divided face Has no grace, No discretion, No occupation But registering Acreage, mileage, The easy knowledge Of the virtuous thing. town car car part driver metaphor metaphysics personificationtaphor metaphysics personification +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Auden, Wystan Hugh Genre Poetry Journal or Book - Publisher - Year of Publication 1928 Pages 65-68 Additional information - Get there if you can and see the land you once were proud to own Though the roads have almost vanished and the expresses never run: road affect road condition Smokeless chimneys, damaged bridges, rotting wharves and choked canals, Tramlines buckled, smashed trucks lying on their side across the rails; infrastructure bridge train car road road condition Power-stations locked, deserted, since they drew the boiler fires; Pylons fallen or subsiding, trailing dead high-tension wires; infrastructure risk Head-gears gaunt on grass-grown pit-banks, seams abandoned years ago; Drop a stone and listen for its splash in flooded dark below. Squeeze into the works through broken windows or through damp-sprung doors; See the rotted shafting, see holes gaping in the upper floors; Where the Sunday lads come talking motor bicycle and girl, Smoking cigarettes in chains until their heads are in a whirl. other mobilities bicycles car gender Far from there we spent the money, thinking we could well afford, While they quietly undersold us with their cheaper trade abroad; At the theatre, playing tennis, driving motor cars we had, In our continental villas, mixing cocktails for a cad. car driving class urban infrastructure metaphor These were boon companions who devised the legends for our tombs, These who have betrayed us nicely while we took them to our rooms. Newman, Ciddy, Plato, Fronny, Pascal, Bowdler, Baudelaire, Doctor Frommer, Mrs Allom, Freud, the Baron, and Flaubert. Lured with their compelling logic, charmed with beauty of their verse, With their loaded sideboards whispered ‘Better join us, life is worse.’ Taught us at the annual camps arranged by the big business men ‘Sunbathe, pretty till you’re twenty. You shall be our servants then.’ Perfect pater. Marvellous mater. Knock the critic down who dares — Very well, believe it, copy; till your hair is white as theirs. Yours you say were parents to avoid, avoid then if you please Do the reverse on all occasion till you catch the same disease. When we asked the way to Heaven, these directed us ahead To the padded room, the clinic and the hangman’s little shed. Intimate as war-time prisoners in an isolation camp, Living month by month together, nervy, famished, lousy, damp. On the sopping esplanade or from our dingy lodgings we Stare out dully at the rain which falls for miles into the sea. Lawrence, Blake and Homer Lane, once healers in our English land; These are dead as iron for ever; these can never hold our hand. Lawrence was brought down by smut-hounds, Blake went dotty as he sang, Homer Lane was killed in action by the Twickenham Baptist gang. Have things gone too far already? Are we done for? Must we wait Hearing doom’s approaching footsteps regular down miles of straight; Run the whole night through in gumboots, stumble on and gasp for breath, Terrors drawing close and closer, winter landscape, fox’s death; Or, in friendly fireside circle, sit and listen for the crash Meaning that the mob has realized something’s up, and start to smash; Engine-drivers with their oil-cans, factory girls in overalls Blowing sky-high monster stores, destroying intellectuals? engine driver car oil metaphor risk Hope and fear are neck and neck: which is it near the course’s end Crashes, having lost his nerve; is overtaken on the bend? road road condition driving risk Shut up talking, charming in the best suits to be had in town, Lecturing on navigation while the ship is going down. town navigation other mobilities Drop those priggish ways for ever, stop behaving like a stone: Throw the bath-chairs right away, and learn to leave ourselves alone. If we really want to live, we’d better start at once to try; If we don’t, it doesn’t matter, but we’d better start to die. +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Braithwaite, William S. Genre Poetry Journal or Book - Publisher - Year of Publication 1908 Pages 30 Additional information - A white road between sea and land, Night and silence on either hand–– Pointing to some unknown gate A white forefinger of fate. road ocean night sound metaphor I follow, I follow––I'll wend My way on this road to the end; Silence may keep to the sea, On land no light shines free. road metaphor navigation Bend low, impenetrable sky–– Through your shades my road runs high: It needs no stars to guide–– No measuring sea-tide. navigation sky road metaphor I breathe the imperishable breath, I trespass the bounds of death–– For my heart knows all the way To the eternal day. death sublime +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Carman, Bliss Genre Poetry Journal or Book April Airs: A Book of New England Lyrics Publisher Snall , Maynard and Company Year of Publication 1920 Pages 29-30 Additional information The poem was originally published in 1914. road For the birthday of James Whitcomb Riley, October 7, 1914. Lockerbie Street is a little street, Just one block long; But the days go there with a magical air, The whole year long. The sun in his journey across the sky Slows his car as he passes by; The sighing wind and the grieving rain Change their tune and cease to complain; And the birds have a wonderful call that seems Like a street-cry out of the land of dreams; For there the real and the make-believe meet. Time does not hurry in Lockerbie Street. street magic sun car road sky wind rain weather animal affect pleasure slowness driver Lockerbie Street is a little street, Only one block long; But the moonlight there is strange and fair All the year long, As ever it was in old romance, When fairies would sing and fauns would dance, Proving this earth is subject still To a blithesome wonder-working Will, Spreading beauty over the land, That every beholder may understand How glory shines round the Mercy-seat. That is the gospel of Lockerbie Street. street night moonlight magic metaphor sublime Lockerbie Street is a little street, Only one block long, A little apart, yet near the heart Of the city's throng. If you are a stranger looking to find Respite and cheer for soul and mind, And have lost your way, and would inquire For a street that will lead to Heart's Desire,— To a place where the spirit is never old, And gladness and love are worth more than gold, — Ask the first boy or girl you meet! Everyone knows where is Lockerbie Street. street affect metaphor town pedestrian Lockerbie Street is a little street, Only one block long; But never a street in all the world, In story or song, Is better beloved by old and young; For there a poet has lived and sung, Wise as an angel, glad as a bird, Fearless and fond in every word, Many a year. And if you would know The secret of joy and the cure of woe,— How to be gentle and brave and sweet,— Ask your way to Lockerbie Street. street affect pleasure metaphor road navigationvigation +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Crane, Hart Genre Poetry Journal or Book The Collected Poems of Hart Crane Publisher Liveright Publishing Corporation Year of Publication 1933 Pages 49-54 Additional information - To Find the Western path Right thro' the Gates of Wrath —Blake Performances, assortments, résumés— Up Times Square to Columbus Circle lights Channel the congresses, nightly sessions, Refractions of the thousand theatres, faces— Mysterious kitchens.... You shall search them all. Some day by heart you’ll learn each famous sight And watch the curtain lift in hell’s despite; You’ll find the garden in the third act dead, Finger your knees—and wish yourself in bed With tabloid crime-sheets perched in easy sight. infrastructure Then let you reach your hat and go. As usual, let you—also walking down—exclaim to twelve upward leaving a subscription praise for what time slays. Or can’t you quite make up your mind to ride; A walk is better underneath the L a brisk Ten blocks or so before? But you find yourself Preparing penguin flexions of the arms,— As usual you will meet the scuttle yawn: The subway yawns the quickest promise home. train Be minimum, then, to swim the hiving swarms Out of the Square, the Circle burning bright— Avoid the glass doors gyring at your right, Where boxed alone a second, eyes take fright —Quite unprepared rush naked back to light: And down beside the turnstile press the coin Into the slot. The gongs already rattle. And so of cities you bespeak subways, rivered under streets and rivers.... In the car the overtone of motion underground, the monotone of motion is the sound of other faces, also underground— train “Let’s have a pencil Jimmy—living now at Floral Park Flatbush—on the Fourth of July— like a pigeon’s muddy dream—potatoes to dig in the field—travlin the town—too— night after night—the Culver line—the girls all shaping up—it used to be—” Our tongues recant like beaten weather vanes. This answer lives like verdigris, like hair Beyond extinction, surcease of the bone; And repetition freezes—“What “what do you want? getting weak on the links? fandaddle daddy don’t ask for change—IS THIS FOURTEENTH? it’s half past six she said—if you don’t like my gate why did you swing on it, why didja swing on it anyhow—” And somehow anyhow swing— The phonographs of hades in the brain Are tunnels that re-wind themselves, and love A burnt match skating in a urinal— Somewhere above Fourteenth TAKE THE EXPRESS To brush some new presentiment of pain— “But I want service in this office SERVICE I said—after the show she cried a little afterwards but—” Whose head is swinging from the swollen strap? Whose body smokes along the bitten rails, Bursts from a smoldering bundle far behind In back forks of the chasms of the brain,— Puffs from a riven stump far out behind In interborough fissures of the mind...? And why do I often meet your visage here, Your eyes like agate lanterns—on and on Below the toothpaste and the dandruff ads? —And did their riding eyes right through your side, And did their eyes like unwashed platters ride? And Death, aloft,—gigantically down Probing through you—toward me, O evermore! And when they dragged your retching flesh, Your trembling hands that night through Baltimore— That last night on the ballot rounds, did you Shaking, did you deny the ticket, Poe? For Gravesend Manor change at Chambers Street. The platform hurries along to a dead stop. The intent escalator lifts a serenade Stilly Of shoes, umbrellas, each eye attending its shoe, then Bolting outright somewhere above where streets Burst suddenly in rain.... The gongs recur: Elbows and levers, guard and hissing door. Thunder is galvothermic here below.... The car Wheels off. The train rounds, bending to a scream, Taking the final level for the dive Under the river— And somewhat emptier than before, Demented, for a hitching second, humps; then Lets go.... Toward corners of the floor Newspapers wing, revolve and wing. Blank windows gargle signals through the roar. anthropomorphism car metaphor sound road weather thunder train And does the Daemon take you home, also, Wop washerwoman, with the bandaged hair? After the corridors are swept, the cuspidors— The gaunt sky-barracks cleanly now, and bare, O Genoese, do you bring mother eyes and hands Back home to children and to golden hair? Daemon, demurring and eventful yawn! Whose hideous laughter is a bellows mirth —Or the muffled slaughter of a day in birth— O cruelly to inoculate the brinking dawn With antennae toward worlds that glow and sink;— To spoon us out more liquid than the dim Locution of the eldest star, and pack The conscience navelled in the plunging wind, Umbilical to call—and straightway die! O caught like pennies beneath soot and steam, Kiss of our agony thou gatherest; Condensed, thou takest all—shrill ganglia Impassioned with some song we fail to keep. And yet, like Lazarus, to feel the slope, The sod and billow breaking,—lifting ground, —A sound of waters bending astride the sky Unceasing with some Word that will not die...! * A tugboat, wheezing wreaths of steam, Lunged past, with one galvanic blare stove up the River. I counted the echoes assembling, one after one, Searching, thumbing the midnight on the piers. Lights, coasting, left the oily tympanum of waters; The blackness somewhere gouged glass on a sky. And this thy harbor, O my City, I have driven under, Tossed from the coil of ticking towers.... Tomorrow, And to be.... Hereby the River that is East— Here at the waters’ edge the hands drop memory; Shadowless in that abyss they unaccounting lie. How far away the star has pooled the sea— Or shall the hands be drawn away, to die? driving infrastructure pollution ocean river urban city Kiss of our agony Thou gatherest, O Hand of Fire gatherest— +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Crane, Hart Genre Poetry Journal or Book White Buildings Publisher Boni & Liveright Year of Publication 1926 Pages 37-44 Additional information - “And so we may arrive by Talmud skill And profane Greek to raise the building up Of Helen’s house against the Ismaelite, King of Thogarma, and his habergeons Brimstony, blue and fiery; and the force Of King Abaddon, and the beast of Cuttim ; Which Rabb David Kimchi, Onkelos, And Aben Ezra do interpret Rome.” —THE ALCHEMIST I The mind has shown itself at times Too much the baked and labeled dough Divided by accepted multitudes. Across the stacked partitions of the day— Across the memoranda, baseball scores, The stenographic smiles and stock quotations Smutty wings flash out equivocations. The mind is brushed by sparrow wings; Numbers, rebuffed by asphalt, crowd The margins of the day, accent the curbs, Convoying divers dawns on every corner To druggist, barber and tobacconist, Until the graduate opacities of evening Take them away as suddenly to somewhere Virginal perhaps, less fragmentary, cool. road urban There is the world dimensional for those untwisted by the love of things irreconcilable . . . And yet, suppose some evening I forgot The fare and transfer, yet got by that way Without recall,— lost yet poised in traffic. Then I might find your eyes across an aisle, Still flickering with those prefigurations— Prodigal, yet uncontested now, Half-riant before the jerky window frame. road traffic affect nostalgia There is some way, I think, to touch Those hands of yours that count the nights Stippled with pink and green advertisements. And now, before its arteries turn dark, I would have you meet this bartered blood. Imminent in his dream, none better knows The white wafer cheek of love, or offers words Lightly as moonlight on the eaves meets snow. Reflective conversion of all things At your deep blush, when ecstasies thread The limbs and belly, when rainbows spread Impinging on the throat and sides . . . Inevitable, the body of the world Weeps in inventive dust for the hiatus That winks above it, bluet in your breasts. The earth may glide diaphanous to death; But if I lift my arms it is to bend To you who turned away once, Helen, knowing The press of troubled hands, too alternate With steel and soil to hold you endlessly. I meet you, therefore, in that eventual flame You found in final chains, no captive then— Beyond their million brittle, bloodshot eyes; White, through white cities passed on to assume That world which comes to each of us alone. Accept a lone eye riveted to your plane, Bent axle of devotion along companion ways That beat, continuous, to hourless days— One inconspicuous, glowing orb of praise. II Brazen hypnotics glitter here; Glee shifts from foot to foot, Magnetic to their tremolo. This crashing opera bouffe, Blest excursion! this ricochet From roof to roof— Know, Olympians, we are breathless While nigger cupids scour the stars! A thousand light shrugs balance us Through snarling hails of melody. White shadows slip across the floor Splayed like cards from a loose hand; Rhythmic ellipses lead into canters Until somewhere a rooster banters. Greet naïvely—yet intrepidly New soothings, new amazements That cornets introduce at every turn— And you may fall downstairs with me With perfect grace and equanimity. Or, plaintively scud past shores Where, by strange harmonic laws All relatives, serene and cool, Sit rocked in patent armchairs. O, I have known metallic paradises Where cuckoos clucked to finches Above the deft catastrophes of drums. While titters hailed the groans of death Beneath gyrating awnings I have seen The incunabula of the divine grotesque. This music has a reassuring way. The siren of the springs of guilty song— Let us take her on the incandescent wax Striated with nuances, nervosities That we are heir to: she is still so young, We cannot frown upon her as she smiles, Dipping here in this cultivated storm Among slim skaters of the gardened skies. III Capped arbiter of beauty in this street That narrows darkly into motor dawn,— You, here beside me, delicate ambassador Of intricate slain numbers that arise In whispers, naked of steel; religious gunman! Who faithfully, yourself, will fall too soon, And in other ways than as the wind settles On the sixteen thrifty bridges of the city: Let us unbind our throats of fear and pity. We even, Who drove speediest destruction In corymbulous formations of mechanics,— Who hurried the hill breezes, spouting malice Plangent over meadows, and looked down On rifts of torn and empty houses Like old women with teeth unjubilant That waited faintly, briefly and in vain: metaphor dawn car night urban infrastructure driving speed mechanic weapon street engine sound bridge We know, eternal gunman, our flesh remembers The tensile boughs, the nimble blue plateaus, The mounted, yielding cities of the air! That saddled sky that shook down vertical Repeated play of fire—no hypogeum Of wave or rock was good against one hour. We did not ask for that, but have survived, And will persist to speak again before All stubble streets that have not curved To memory, or known the ominous lifted arm That lowers down the arc of Helen’s brow To saturate with blessing and dismay. weapon haptic city road metaphor intertext A goose, tobacco and cologne— Three winged and gold-shod prophecies of heaven, The lavish heart shall always have to leaven And spread with bells and voices, and atone The abating shadows of our conscript dust. Anchises’ navel, dripping of the sea,— The hands Erasmus dipped in gleaming tides, Gathered the voltage of blown blood and vine; Delve upward for the new and scattered wine, O brother-thief of time, that we recall. Laugh out the meagre penance of their days Who dare not share with us the breath released, The substance drilled and spent beyond repair For golden, or the shadow of gold hair. Distinctly praise the years, whose volatile Blamed bleeding hands extend and thresh the height The imagination spans beyond despair, Outpacing bargain, vocable and prayer. +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Cummings, Edward Estline Genre Poetry Journal or Book E.E. Cummings: Complete Poems 1904-1962 Publisher Liveright Year of Publication 1926 Pages 246 Additional information - technology pleasure gender personification she being Brand personification gender -new;and you know consequently a little stiff i was careful of her and(having thoroughly oiled the universal joint tested my gas felt of her radiator made sure her springs were O. car part haptic gender maintenance oil K.)i went right to it flooded-the-carburetor cranked her driving car car part metaphor sound up,slipped the clutch(and then somehow got into reverse she kicked what the hell)next minute i was back in neutral tried and driving driver driving skill car part gender haptic agency personification again slo-wly;bare,ly nudg. ing(my slowness driving lev-er Right- oh and her gears being in A 1 shape passed from low through second-in-to-high like greasedlightning)just as we turned the corner of Divinity car part driving engine oil gender metaphor haptic driving pleasure sublime avenue i touched the accelerator and give driving road speed her the juice,good gasoline (it was the first ride and believe i we was happy to see how nice she acted right up to the last minute coming back down by the Public Gardens i slammed on driving gender haptic affect pleasure urban the internalexpanding & externalcontracting brakes Bothatonce and car part personification driving engine speed death brought allofher tremB -ling to a:dead. stand- ;Still) slowness stop parking slowness stop parking +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Cummings, Edward Estline Genre Poetry Journal or Book E.E. Cummings: Complete Poems 1904-1962 Publisher Liveright Year of Publication 1958 Pages 680 Additional information - dominic has a doll wired to the radiator of his ZOOM DOOM car car part metaphor sound onomatopoeia icecoalwood truck a car wistful little clown whom somebody buried upsidedown in an ashbarrel so of course dominic took him home & mrs dominic washed his sweet car dirty face & mended his bright torn trousers(quite as if he were really her & she but)& so that 's how dominic has a doll & every now & then my wonderful friend dominic depaola gives me a most tremendous hug knowing i feel that we & worlds are less alive than dolls &; worlds are less alive than dolls & +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Delany, Philip Genre Non-Fiction Journal or Book Outing Publisher - Year of Publication 1903 Pages 131-136 Additional information - pioneer Romance is fast being crowded out of the life of the pioneer; once he depended upon his own sturdy legs, or those of his broncho or burronow he may, if he like, ride in an automobile, the latest pathfinder of the plains. The machine has its thrilling side, too. affect car pleasure technology pioneer To climb mountain passes with a thirty-per-cent grade, to coast down rocky roads with only a few feet from wheels to the edge of an abyss of picturesque wonders, to swing along southern paths made famous by the Indians and pony express riders of only a few years ago, and along which a motor-car had never before been seen, this is an automobile trip that has exploring and sight seeing, and excitement enough to suit the most adventurous spirit. Such a journey I took this spring with Mr. W. W. Price, who has, with an automobile, re-discovered many a Western cañon, pass and desert. car road condition car part desert mountain Native American passenger scenery topography It took us two hours to run from Colorado Springs—our starting point—to Pueblo, past Pike's Peak and Cheyenne Mountain, most of the way over hot alkali plains, furrowed deep by cloud-burst and spring freshets. From Pueblo, taking supplies for the machine, we struck south across country. We were soon out of the world, drifting across a roadless land made more weird by the light which the moon threw over it. We were trying to locate the main highway to Walsenburg. For a time we crawled along where lines showed teams had once gone, until we came to a Mexican ranch of adobe houses; but the three big headlights on the machine discovered no one and we crept slowly away from the corral, the machine thudding sullenly under us. Then suddenly we blundered into the roadway and away we went at a rate of thirty miles an hour, transfixing with wonder a few Mexicans who were camping near by. adobe car part driving mountain engine highway infrastructure metaphor Midwest night passenger road side rural slowness sound Spring South from Walsenburg, the next day we swung past the Spanish Peaks, snow-white above the evergreens. Mountains were everywhere. They leaned in to- ward us threateningly through the clear air from all sides. Then down through Trinidad, toward Raton, New Mexico, the way wound around foothills, black with outcroppings of coal. From Raton we left the railroad lines, which had paralleled us, and pushed across the level plains, where cattle turned and ran in herds at the sight of a motor on the old Mexican land grant and the machine slowed down, necessarily, and followed the burro pace-maker. After a night in an old adobe house in Cimarron we went down through the cañon, its rocky walls echoing in hollow calls the throbbing of the machine. As we hurried along, a fuzzy-coated burro walked out placidly before the car and nonchalantly jogged along, and the machine slowed down, necessarily, and followed the burro pace-maker. And so we were led into Elizabethtown, whose placer diggings were the scene of a wild scramble in '68. adobe air affect animal car driving risk engine scenery Southwest Having come in to Elizabethtown through a hole we went out over a cloud. There are no other ways. The mountains surround it. The Indians call this pass “arrow stick in pole," it is so steep. Once at the summit, twisting and bending like a floundering whale, the car coasted down to the irrigated plain of Taos, where Indians, resting on their hoes, eyed us silently, and Mexicans saluted gracefully. Three miles beyond we swooped suddenly down upon the settlement of five-story, terraced houses of the Red Willow Indians. In their gaudy blankets they swarmed to the earthen housetops and watched us silently. But when, after much coaxing, we crowded the car with redskins and sent it dashing up and down at breakneck speed there were such war-whoops as city dwellers never hear. car road condition driving risk infrastructure mountain Native American These Indians believe that the Great Spirit has guided them to this promised land. They wandered here from the north, and we listened, standing with bare heads in an underground council chamber, to the recital in Spanish of the story of their faith. They are a fine example of the early American aristocracy at its best. They have some lessons for modern American society. In Taos, too, lived and lies Kit Carson, the hunter and trapper, scout and soldier. From Taos we pushed through sand for many miles. The only living thing we saw was a gray coyote. But the desert is clean and sunny, which is something. At last we reached harder soil and green things growing. Indians greeted us on the way, and finally we came to the cliff dwellings of Pajorito Park, one of the many ruins of the great centuries-ago cities of the Southwest. One of the localities showed that 250,000 people lived there in houses, some of them five stories, or about seventy-five feet high. Irrigation, agriculture, industries and arts were all parts of their daily life. desert driving road surface animal scenery Native American Southwest agriculture Running in to Santa Fé we passed wagons crowded with Indians, gorgeous in color, from bullet-headed papoose to squaw and buck. They all watched us stolidly, while the bronchos reeled and jumped with fright until we were out of sight. Then the bronchos probably received some attention. affect driving Native American Southwest Santa Fé is rich with history, and the road on to Las Vegas is rich with color and beautiful landscape. The wild green on every side is cut with clean white streams full of trout for the angler. The little Mexican adobe village of San José, which has scarcely changed in a century, nestles in the heart of this country. adobe driving road road side scenery rural Southwest When we went through San José I began to understand over again and in a new way Mark Twain's "Adventures of a Connecticut Yankee." The whole of King Arthur's court on bicycles could not have started the stir we created in that single automobile. We went through the place like the wind, the machine snorting, whistle tooting, while the poor inhabitants huddled into frightened groups out of reach. We were a kind of first thunderstorm to them. affect car intertext car metaphor personification We had a plunge in the Las Vegas Hot Springs and started north again along the old Santa Fé trail, meeting few people and seeing little that was new. One begrizzled old man, at an isolated shack, watched us so wistfully as he brought us some water that we half wanted to take him into the car and drive him into civilization, but he is probably happier as he is. From Raton it is back, over the same way we came, to Colorado Springs and home. driving rural Midwest Southwest And so the machine is conquering the old frontier, carrying the thudding of modern mechanics into the land of romance. There are many pleasures in such a journey; you bring a new thing to an old people and they re-teach you old things that should never be forgotten. You see, perhaps, the wildest and most natural places on the continent; and there's a touch of adventure, for such a trip cannot be taken without some danger. We crowded what used to take months to do in nine days-nine hundred miles up mountain and down valley. The trails of Kit Carson and Boone and Crockett, and the rest of the early frontiersmen, stretch out before the adventurous automobilist. And when he is tired of the old, there are new paths to be made. He has no beaten track to follow, no schedule to meet, no other train to consider; but he can go with the speed of an express straight into the heart of an unknown land. And he isn't in much greater danger than the man who pilots his machine between the trucks and carriages of a crowded city street. It is only the beginning of automobile exploring and frontiering in the old West. car metaphor pioneer pleasure scenery sublime technology urban +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Fraser, Vonard Genre Poetry Journal or Book Motor Land Publisher - Year of Publication 1922 Pages 16 Additional information - Through the forest aisles to the silver sea, To the crest of the sun-kissed hills, As the motor sings on the Open Road And the heart of all nature thrills. forest ocean topography music sound personification road scenery There’s a subtle lure in the summer air, Wherever the road may lead, And a power that throbs with the pulsing gears— What a joy in the Age of Speed! car part power speed pleasure road personification haptic summer There’s a pleasure here that our fathers knew At the pull of the dappled greys, Or the Roman lord with his Arab steed As he basked in the public gaze. animal From the snow-clad peaks of the Siskiyous To the warmth of the southern sun, Over roads that wind through the marts of trade, Does the traffic of pleasure run. snow sunshine driving mountain scenery traffic pleasure And we laugh at Time as the tardy Hours In their gallop from Day’s red dawn Are outdistanced far in the swift-sped race By this product of brain and brawn. animal metaphor technology car speed lt’s the key to health and a newer life, Where the treasures of Nature lie, As the seasons pass from the Spring’s sweet breath To the chill of the Winter's sigh. health spring winter And the dream of man is a broader dream With the span of his life’s increase, And the throbbing pulse of the motor car Bears him nearer the haunts of Peace. health agency haptic car And the country calls to the city-bred, "Come away from the fields of strife, For a breath of air from the snow-clad peaks In the traffic of Joy is Life.” rural urban traffic +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Fraser, Vonard Genre Poetry Journal or Book Motor Land Publisher - Year of Publication 1922 Pages 24 Additional information - There's a strident call in the Open Road Where the Spring's glad message lies, And the motor sings me a joyous song With a lilt of the azure skies. car sound music personification pleasure road sky spring O’er the ribboned line of the Great Highway, Where the wildflower carpet's laid, Where the poppy opens her golden cup As a symbol of Spring arrayed. highway plant metaphor road spring Through the forests, born in an ancient day, With their banks of moss and bloom, And the bordered aisles of the canyons dim Where the giant Redwoods loom. forest tree plant Then o'er hill and dale to the realm of snow, To the mirrored lakes and rills, While the skylark's call from the meadows green Can be heard on a thousand hills. snow lake animal sound For the feverish press in this Game of Life What a balm does Nature bear! What a draught of health in the new-turned earth, What a change from the realm of Care! O, the key to much that the world loves best Can be found beside the way, If your motor sings you a joyous song At the dawn of a bright spring day. car personification pleasure music sound springtion pleasure music sound spring +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Frost, Robert Genre Poetry Journal or Book New Hampshire. A Poem with Notes and Grace Notes Publisher Henry Holt Year of Publication 1923 Pages 109 Additional information - tree road metaphor (To hear us talk) The tree the tempest with a crash of wood Throws down in front of us is not to bar Our passage to our journey's end for good, But just to ask us who we think we are tree navigation personification Insisting always on our own way so. She likes to halt us in our runner tracks, And make us get down in a foot of snow Debating what to do without an axe. road condition risk tree personification equipment And yet she knows obstruction is in vain: We will not be put off the final goal We have it hidden in us to attain, Not though we have to seize earth by the pole And, tired of aimless circling in one place, Steer straight off after something into space. agency driving safetypace. agency driving safety +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Hersey, Marie Louise Genre Poetry Journal or Book Modern Verse: British and American Publisher Henry Holt and Company Year of Publication 1921 Pages 159-161 Additional information - All summer in the close-locked streets the crowd Elbows its way past glittering shops to strains Of noisy rag-time, men and girls, dark skinned,— From warmer foreign waters they have come To our New England. Purring like sleek cats The cushioned motors of the rich crawl through While black-haired babies scurry to the curb: Pedro, Maria, little Gabriel Whose red bandana mothers selling fruit Have this in common with the fresh white caps Of those first immigrants—courage to leave Familiar hearths and build new memories. summer city zoomorphism sound east road traffic East sound personification affect African American Blood of their blood who shaped these sloping roofs And low arched doorways, laid the cobble stones Not meant for motors,—you and I rejoice When roof and spire sink deep into the night And all the little streets reach out their arms To be received into the salt-drenched dark. Then Provincetown comes to her own again, Draws round her like a cloak that shelters her From too swift changes of the passing years The dunes, the sea, the silent hilltop grounds Where solemn groups of leaning headstones hold Perpetual reunion of her dead. road surface cobblestone city personification road law urban car metaphor At dusk we feel our way along the wharf That juts into the harbor: anchored ships With lifting prow and slowly rocking mast Ink out their profiles; fishing dories scull With muffled lamps that glimmer through the spray; We hear the water plash among the piers Rotted with moss, long after sunset stay To watch the dim sky-changes ripple down The length of quiet ocean to our feet Till on the sea rim rising like a world Bigger than ours, and laying bare the ships In shadowy stillness, swells the yellow moon. other mobilities Between this blue intensity of sea And rolling dunes of white-hot sand that burn All day across a clean salt wilderness On shores grown sacred as a place of prayer, Shine bright invisible footsteps of a band Of firm-lipped men and women who endured Partings from kindred, hardship, famine, death, And won for us three hundred years ago A reverent proud freedom of the soul.oud freedom of the soul. +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Hughes, Langston Genre Poetry Journal or Book Langston Hughes: Poems Publisher Alfred A. Knopf Inc. Year of Publication 1927 Pages 84 Additional information - infrastructure class Hey, Buddy! Look at me! I'm makin' a road For the cars to fly by on, Makin' a road Through the palmetto thicket For light and civilization To travel on. construction road speed metaphor I'm makin' a road For the rich to sweep over In their big cars And leave me standin' here. construction car road Sure, A road helps everybody. Rich folks ride — And I get to see 'em ride. I ain't never seen nobody Ride so fine before. driving road Hey, Buddy, look! I'm makin' a road!ey, Buddy, look! I'm makin' a road! +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Jones, Joshua Henry Genre Poetry Journal or Book Poems of the Four Seas Publisher Books for Libraries Press Year of Publication 1921 Pages 3 Additional information - There are hill roads and dale roads, And roads that bind and twist; Some wide roads and cramped roads Which many souls have missed. There are blind roads and night roads That lead to where we fall. The long road's a hard road But the best road after all. road road condition metaphor Some good roads, some bad roads Are roads of dust and grime; Some rest roads and toil roads, Then some that lead to crime. The best road's the west road Which becks with quiet call. The straight road, though hard road, Is the best road after all. road condition metaphor dust West affect There's a love road and a hate road; And this last road trails to hell. There's a cool road; a clean road That leads by friendship's well. But the best road is the west road That calls us one and all. 'Tis a bright road—a right road And—the one road after all. road condition metaphor affect Westdition metaphor affect West +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Kilmer, Joyce Genre Poetry Journal or Book Main Street and Other Poems Publisher George H. Doran Company Year of Publication 1917 Pages 13-15 Additional information - I like to look at the blossomy track of the moon upon the sea, But it isn't half so fine a sight as Main Street used to be When it all was covered over with a couple of feet of snow, And over the crisp and radiant road the ringing sleighs would go. road snow Now, Main Street bordered with autumn leaves, it was a pleasant thing, And its gutters were gay with dandelions early in the Spring; I like to think of it white with frost or dusty in the heat, Because I think it is humaner than any other street. fall plant road spring anthropomorphism A city street that is busy and wide is ground by a thousand wheels, And a burden of traffic on its breast is all it ever feels: It is dully conscious of weight and speed and of work that never ends, But it cannot be human like Main Street, and recognise its friends. urban traffic anthropomorphism haptic road There were only about a hundred teams on Main Street in a day, And twenty or thirty people, I guess, and some children out to play. And there wasn't a wagon or buggy, or a man or a girl or a boy That Main Street didn't remember, and somehow seem to enjoy. anthropomorphism road The truck and the motor and trolley car and the elevated train They make the weary city street reverberate with pain: But there is yet an echo left deep down within my heart Of the music the Main Street cobblestones made beneath a butcher's cart. urban affect road anthropomorphism music cobblestone road surface God be thanked for the Milky Way that runs across the sky, That's the path that my feet would tread whenever I have to die. Some folks call it a Silver Sword, and some a Pearly Crown, But the only thing I think it is, is Main Street, Heaventown. road sublimetown. road sublime +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Lavell, Edith Genre Fiction Journal or Book The Girl Scouts‘ Motor Trip Publisher A. L. Burt Company Year of Publication 1924 Pages Chapters 1-3 Additional information - Chapter 1 - A Challenge [ edit ] Marjorie Wilkinson and Lily Andrews sauntered down the hall of the dormitory towards their rooms, humming tunes and dragging their hockey sticks along the floor behind them. They were enjoying a particularly jubilant mood, for their team had just been victorious; the sophomores of Turner College had succeeded in defeating the juniors in a closely contested game of hockey. And Marjorie and Lily both played on the team. As they paused at the door of their sitting-room, Florence Evans, a member of the old senior patrol of Pansy Troop of Girls Scouts, and now a freshman at college, came out to meet them. She had run in for news of the game, and finding the girls away, had decided to await their return. “Who won?” she demanded, without any ceremony. “We did!” announced Lily, triumphantly. “Naturally—with such a captain!” She nodded proudly towards Marjorie. “Congratulations!” cried Florence, seizing both girls by the hands and leading them back to the room. “Now—tell me all about it!” Marjorie had scarcely begun her account of the thrilling match when she was interrupted by the abrupt entrance of Alice Endicott, another freshman who had been a Girl Scout of the same troop, looking as if she carried the most startling news in the world. Naturally vivacious, her cheeks glowed and her eyes shone with even greater brilliancy than usual. The girls stopped talking instantly, aware that her excitement was not due to any event so ordinary as a hockey game. “Girls!” she flung out. “Guess what?” “What?” they all demanded at once. Alice waved an open letter before their eyes. “The most magnificent thing has happened—” “To you?” interrupted Florence, who always wanted to be explicit. “To us —all of us—of the senior patrol. A plan for this summer!” “The scouts aren’t to get together again, are they?” cried Marjorie, jumping up and going over towards Alice, as if she wanted at a single glance to learn the contents of that mysterious letter. “Have you found a baby, or only a boot-legger?” asked Lily, laughingly. “Because it’s too late to get our tea-house back again, after the money’s all spent!” “Neither of those things,” replied Alice. “Only a rich relation.” “Why the ‘only’?” inquired Florence. “I think that’s almost enough. But tell us about it. How does it concern us?” “Just wait till you hear!” laughed Alice, turning to her letter again. “Well, do let us hear!” begged Lily, impatiently. “We’re waiting.” Alice seated herself upon the couch and paused a moment before she started upon her explanation, as if to make the situation more dramatic. At last she began. “Of course you know our family are all in modest circumstances, but it seems that there is this one wealthy relative—an elderly, maiden aunt on my father’s side. I have never seen her, because she has lived in California during all of my life, but naturally I had heard of her before. She never took any interest in us, however, and always said she was going to leave all of her money to her two nephews whom she is raising. “Well, I hardly thought she knew of my existence, when suddenly, out of a clear sky, I got this letter from her with its thrilling proposition. She must have learned somewhere of the work we did last summer, and of our reason for doing it, and she was impressed. She evidently never knew any Girl Scouts before, or in fact any girls who were interested in anything so worth while as a sick mother or a tea-house. So, lo and behold, she writes to me and tells me she wants to make my acquaintance—and not only mine, but that of the whole patrol!” “But we can’t go out west, Alice!” interrupted Marjorie, jumping at her meaning. “We couldn’t possibly afford it.” “No,” added Florence, “I was thinking of looking for a job for the summer.” “Wait till you hear the rest of it!” said Alice. “We won’t need any money. Aunt Emeline is offering to pay all our expenses, if we motor to California !” “Motor!” repeated Marjorie. “We girls? By ourselves—?” driving West “No; we may, in fact, we must have a chaperone.” “It would be a wonderful thing to do!” exclaimed Florence, contrasting the pleasures of such a delightful excursion with the routine duties of an office position, such as she had planned for herself. “But is it possible?” “Why not?” demanded Alice. “Lots of girls have done it before—I’ve even read accounts of their trips in the magazines, telling all about what to take, and how much it costs.” “But they are always older girls than we are!” objected Lily. “Girl Scouts can do anything any other girls can do!” asserted Marjorie with pride. “I’m sure we could make the trip. Now, tell me again, please, Alice: just which of us are invited?” “All the girls who took part in last summer’s work at the tea-house,” replied Alice. “That means us four, Daisy Gravers, Ethel Todd, Marie Louise Harris—and—Doris and Mae if they want to.” “‘If they want to’ is good!” laughed Marjorie. “Imagine those two brides leaving their husbands for a two months’ trip!” “Of course you could hardly expect Mae to,” admitted Alice; “she’s quite too recent a bride. But Doris will have been married a year.” “But she and Roger are just as spoony as ever!” interrupted Lily. “No, I’m afraid we can’t count on them. But the other three girls probably will.” “To continue,” said Alice: “you know that I told you my aunt is queer—a little ‘off’ we always considered her. Well, she goes on to add that we must make the trip inside of six weeks, follow the Lincoln Highway, not spend more than a certain sum of money she is depositing in my name, and—the last is worst of all—” “What?” demanded two or three of the scouts at once. “We are not to accept help of any men along the way!” The girls all burst out laughing immediately at the absurdity of such a suggestion. Yet there was not one among them who doubted that she could fulfill the conditions. “And what happens if we do take assistance?” asked Florence, when the merriment had subsided. “Do we have to pay for our own trip?” “No, but the guilty girls have to go home,” replied Alice. “Can’t you just see us dropping one by one ‘by the wayside’” remarked Lily, “because we accept masculine chivalry. Really, it will be hard—” “Oh, we can do it!” said Marjorie, with her usual assurance. She put down her hockey stick and went over to the tea-table to make tea. The subject was too interesting to allow her guests to depart. highway infrastructure “Tell us more,” urged Florence. “The best is yet to come,” said Alice, her eyes sparkling with pleasure, because of the further revelation she was about to make. “There is a reward at the end!” “A reward!” repeated Marjorie. “As if the trip itself weren’t enough—” “Yes, this is the marvelous part. If we fulfill all the conditions, and reach Aunt Emeline’s house by midnight of August first, each girl is to receive a brand-new runabout, for her very own!” “What? What?” demanded all the girls at the same time, unable to believe their ears. “Shall we accept the offer?” continued Alice. “Shall we?” cried Florence. “As if there were any doubt!” She jumped up and gave Alice an ecstatic little squeeze. The other girls were just as enthusiastic, and they discussed the affair from every angle, while they drank Marjorie’s tea and nibbled at some nabiscoes which Lily produced from her cake box. When they came to the selection of a chaperone, they were all unanimous in their desire to have Mrs. Remington. “But would she leave her husband for such a long time?” asked Lily, doubtfully. “It wouldn’t be a question of leaving him,” answered Marjorie. “Because he has to go to some sort of Boy Scout camp this summer for the months of July and August—she told me about it in her last letter. So she might be very glad of the invitation.” “Then that settles that,” said Alice. “Marj, will you write immediately?” “I certainly will, and I’ll write home for permission for myself at the same time.” “Marj!” exclaimed Lily, suddenly. “What about the Hadleys? Didn’t you promise that you’d go to the seashore—?” Marjorie blushed, remembering the time she had told John Hadley that she would spend her vacation with him and his mother, and had disappointed him to go on the ranch. Luckily, however, no definite plans had been agreed upon as yet for this summer. “No, thank goodness I didn’t promise,” she replied. “But,” she added teasingly, “how can you ever exist all that time without seeing Dick Roberts?” Her room-mate only laughed good-naturedly at the thrust; she was used to being taunted about the frequency of this young man’s visits. “I can get along very well without any young man,” she replied, boastfully. “I’m not Doris—or Mae Van Horn!” “Mae Melville, you mean,” corrected Alice, for they all had difficulty in calling the girl by her new name, of which she had been in possession only a month. “Wasn’t it funny,” she added, “that Mae caught Doris’s bouquet at the wedding, and sure enough was the first to get married! Just as if there were something to the old superstition after all!” “It was, and it wasn’t, odd,” reasoned Marjorie; “because after all it was very natural for Doris and Mae to be the first girls married from our patrol. They didn’t have so much to keep them occupied as we college girls have—and they had more time to think about such things.” “Implying,” remarked Florence, “that if you weren’t busy here, you’d be marrying John Hadley, and Lily, Dick Roberts, and—” “That will do, Flos!” remonstrated Marjorie. “You don’t have to apply every generalization personally. But, seriously, it is a fact that college girls usually marry later in life than those who just stay at home like Doris.” “But Mae didn’t stay home! She had a job.” “Now don’t let’s have an argument on a college girl’s chances versus those of a business woman!” protested Lily. “And by the way, wasn’t it too bad that we couldn’t any of us be at Mae’s wedding to see who would catch the bride’s bouquet! We won’t know who will be the next victim!” “Maybe we’ll all be old maids,” laughed Marjorie. “At any rate, I don’t think any of us will be running off soon, since we’re all six in college. And that reminds me, haven’t we four been mean to go on talking about this marvelous proposition, and not make any attempt to go get Daisy—” “I’ll go for her this instant!” volunteered Alice, jumping immediately to her feet. “It is a shame—” She was off in a moment, skipping down the hall like a happy child. It was not long before she returned with Daisy Gravers, another Girl Scout of the patrol, and the subject was discussed all over again with a thoroughness that omitted no details. The girls’ only regret was that Ethel Todd, a junior at Bryn Mawr, could not be present to hear all about it. “I’ll write to her,” said Alice. “Then, if we can all six go—and Mrs. Remington—” “And maybe Marie Louise,” put in Daisy. “We’ll need several cars,” concluded Lily, who always did things sumptuously. “Two ought to be enough,” said Florence. “But say, girls, why couldn’t we leave our planning until Doris’s house-party? Then we’ll all be together, and will know definitely whether or not we can go.” “But the boys will be such an interruption!” sighed Lily. “You can’t get a thing done with them around.” “Oh, we’ll shut them out of our conferences,” announced Marjorie, coolly. “We must accustom ourselves to getting along without the opposite sex if we are to make a success of our trip.” “And yet it is a pity,” remarked Alice, “after all they did for us last summer at the tea-house!” “Yes, maybe if it weren’t for them we wouldn’t have become famous and received this scrumptious invitation,” surmised Daisy. car “What I can’t understand,” mused Florence, who had been carefully considering every aspect of the offer, “is why your aunt should want us to make the trip independent of all masculine assistance. Especially when, as you say, Alice, she shows such preference for her two nephews.” “Oh, it’s just an idea of hers—a notion that she’s taken, I suppose,” replied Alice. “When you’re awfully rich and awfully old, you sometimes do crazy things just for the novelty of it.” “My, what a philosopher you are!” joked Florence. “You sound as if you had been both old and rich!” “My theory,” put in Marjorie, “is that it has something to do with the nephews. She has probably boasted of our work last summer, and perhaps the boys belittled it. So I think this might be a kind of wager.” “That sounds plausible!” exclaimed Lily. “Well, let’s do all in our power to make the old lady win.” “And yet,” interposed Florence, “she may be on the other side, hoping we don’t live up to the conditions. It would certainly be cheaper for her if we fell down—” “Girls, I think you’re all wrong,” said Daisy. “I think she is just a lovely old lady, who has read about our work, and wants to reward us. But she thinks we’ll appreciate our cars more if we earn them, and that’s the reason she put on all these conditions.” “Come, we’re not getting anywhere!” interrupted Florence, “and the time’s passing.” A glance at her watch assured her that the supper hour was imminent. “Meet here day after tomorrow,” suggested Marjorie, as the girls rose to take their leave; “and try to have your parents’ permission by then.” “We’ll have it!” cried two or three of the girls. “We wouldn’t miss this chance for the world!” Chapter 2 - Together Again [ edit ] Two weeks after Alice Endicott had received her startling invitation to visit her aunt at the latter’s expense, Doris Harris sat in the living-room of her cozy little Philadelphia house, awaiting the arrival of all the girls concerned. The party was to be a week-end one, half of the girls staying at her house, and half at the home of her sister-in-law, Marie Louise Harris, with whom they had lived during the preceding summer while conducting the tea-room. Doris looked about the attractively furnished room, with its shining white paint and snowy curtains, its delft blue hangings and upholstery, and smiled contentedly to herself. It would have been pleasant, she thought, to go to college, along with the majority of the girls of the senior patrol; but it could not have been nearly so wonderful as to be married to the best man in the world, and to possess such a dear little home of her own. And, after all, there would always be occasions like this when she could manage to be with the girls again. She heard a light step on the porch but she did not put down her fancy work to go to the door, for she recognized it as belonging to her sister-in-law. The girls were so intimate that neither considered stopping to ring the bell at the other’s home. A moment later Marie Louise opened the door. “Anybody here yet?” she asked, crossing the room to give Doris her customary kiss. “No, not yet,” replied her hostess. “I sort of expect that the five girls from Turner College will come together. But Ethel Todd will come by herself.” Marie Louise disappeared into the dining-room for a minute and returned carrying a vase of roses, which she had arranged most artistically in a wide blue china bowl. She set it down upon the table, hardly listening to Doris’s thanks for the flowers, so eager was she to talk of the latest development. “Tell me more about this new idea—is it Alice’s or Marjorie’s?—I haven’t got the gist of it yet. Ethel Todd called me up on the telephone, but the connection was so poor—” “I really don’t know myself,” replied Doris; “except that it is a trip of some sort, and Alice’s aunt is paying the expenses. None of the girls wrote to me in detail, because they all assumed that I couldn’t go.” “Well, you wouldn’t, would you?” “No, of course not,” replied Doris, laughingly. “I’d be too homesick. But how about you, Marie Louise?” “Unfortunately I’ve arranged to go on studying all summer. You know I spoke of some such plan—well, I had already made my arrangements before Ethel called me up. But I am crazy to see the girls and hear all about it.” She seated herself upon the wide window-sill so that she might catch the first sight of her friends when they arrived. But she did not have long to wait; in less than ten minutes Ethel Todd put in an appearance. Both girls jumped up joyfully and hurried to the door. “Aren’t the others here yet?” asked Ethel, as soon as the greetings had subsided. “No, not yet,” replied Doris. “But they won’t be long and they’re all coming together. Now—come on upstairs, Ethel, and put your hat and coat away, for I want you to stay here. You know,” she explained laughingly, “I have only room enough to put up three of the girls, so three will have to stay at Marie Louise’s.” She led the way up the mahogany and white staircase to the dainty little guest room at the rear of the second story, a boudoir such as any girl would love, furnished in cream-colored painted furniture, with pink floral decorations and pink and cream curtains at the windows. Ethel admired it profusely. “And did you work that bed-spread yourself?” she asked, examining closely the applique work in a flower design, upon unbleached muslin. “It’s simply too pretty to sleep on.” “Oh, it will wash!” laughed Doris. “Yes, I did make it myself. I love to do fancy-work.” Then, in the same breath, “Now tell us all about the trip. I’m tremendously interested.” “I’m afraid I don’t know a whole lot myself—just the bare facts that you know. But wait till Marj and Alice get here—they’ll tell us everything. By the way, is everybody coming?” “Everybody but Mae,” replied Doris. “You could hardly expect so recent a bride. In fact,” she added, “I didn’t even invite her. I knew it would be of no use.” “And she’s too far away-way out there in Ohio,” said Ethel. “I’m afraid we won’t see much of her any more.” They descended the staircase just in time to see, through the glass door, a taxi stop in front of the house. A moment later five merry, laughing girls jumped out of the machine and skipped up the porch steps. Marjorie Wilkinson, the last to enter the house on account of the delay in paying the driver, decided to make up for lost time, and seized Ethel, Doris, and Marie Louise all at once in one inclusive hug. taxi “We’re all here!” she cried, joyfully. “Together now—and together all summer! Isn’t it marvelous?” “Yes, if only Mae were here,” said Lily, who never could forget the absent members. “And if Doris and I could go with you,” sighed Marie Louise. “You can’t go?” asked Alice, her face clouding. “Oh, why not, Marie Louise? Are you going to get married too?” “No, indeed,” replied the other girl, laughingly. “But I am keeping on at art school this summer.” “What a shame!” cried several of the others at once. They were all genuinely fond of this girl who was the latest addition to their number. Without even removing their hats, the girls all dropped into chairs in the living-room and continued to talk fast and furiously about their proposed trip. It seemed that all of the college girls were planning to go; and Marjorie’s announcement of Mrs. Remington’s acceptance added another cause for rejoicing. Their only regret was that their two hostesses and Mae Melville could not go. “I honestly feel sorry for you married people!” teased Florence. “To think that you have to miss all the fun—” “But there are compensations,” Doris reminded her. “Maybe we feel sorry for you!” “Now Doris, we won’t stand for that!” retorted Alice. “And anyhow—” “Anyhow what?” demanded the other, as Alice paused in the middle of her remark. “Anyhow some of us may have gone over to your side by the time we come back. I expect some of the girls to fall for my cousins—” But Marjorie put an end to their bantering by a call to the practical. “That makes seven of us to go,” she said, using her fingers for the calculation. “I should think that two machines would really be enough.” “Yes,” answered Alice, “because we are to travel light. I forgot to tell you that one of my aunt’s stipulations is that we wear our Girl Scout uniforms all the time. We can express our trunks ahead, packed with the clothing we want to wear after we get to California.” “Then everybody will know we’re scouts?” asked Florence. “Yes; you don’t mind, do you?” “I’m proud of it!” replied the other, loyally. “If you take a big seven-passenger car,” said Lily, “wouldn’t it be possible to take my Rolls as a second? It really runs wonderfully.” “It would do beautifully,” answered Marjorie; and all the others approved her decision. “Do we camp along the way, or do we expect to stop at inns and hotels?” asked Ethel. “Both,” replied Alice. “You see we have to be a little bit economical because Aunt Emeline is only allowing us a certain amount for our trip; and if we spend any more, even though it is our own money, we forfeit our reward. So we must be rather thrifty.” car car model West “I think it’s more fun to camp, anyhow,” said Marjorie. “Imagine Girl Scouts running to hotels all along the way! Though it will be nice to stop every once in a while and get a real bath!” “Oh, you’ll have to go to a hotel in the big cities,” put in Doris, who took as much interest in the affair as if she were going herself. “The funniest thing is going to be refusing any help from men we happen to meet along the road,” remarked Daisy. “I’m afraid some of them may think we’re terribly rude.” “And suppose we get in such a tight place we simply can’t get out,” suggested Ethel. “What are we to do?” “Walk miles to a garage, or trust to some women tourists to give us a lift,” answered Marjorie, firmly. “Trust us! Girl Scouts don’t give up easily.” “But remember,” put in Daisy, who was still a little dubious as to the success of the undertaking, “that we always had our own Boy Scouts to help us before. And now we’ll be miles away!” she sighed regretfully. “We wouldn’t call on them if they were right behind us!” asserted Marjorie. “Oh, it’s going to be great fun—so much more than if we were all wealthy, and could just take the trip as we pleased, without any terms being dictated! It means that we’ve got one more chance to show what Girl Scouts can do!” car car model West “Well, your aunt certainly must be a queer one to think up all these conditions,” observed Doris. “Oh, she hasn’t much to do,” said Alice, “except to think about those two nephews who are her heirs. I guess we’ve given her a new interest.” “What does she look like?” asked Florence. “I don’t know; the only picture we have is one of those old-fashioned things in a family album. She was eighteen then, and looked thirty-eight. You know the kind that I mean. But I have always imagined that she resembled that fake lieutenant those boys we met on the train fixed up for our benefit the summer we went on the ranch.” “Speaking of boys,” interrupted Doris, “they will soon be here. And you girls won’t even have your hats off—let alone be dressed. Don’t you think we had better adjourn to our rooms, especially the girls who have to go over to Marie Louise’s?” “Right you are, Doris!” exclaimed all of her guests, hastening to carry out her suggestion. But if Doris thought that the presence of the boys at dinner that evening would put a damper upon the discussion of the project, she was mistaken. The boys, among whom were Jack Wilkinson, John Hadley, and Dick Roberts—all intimate friends of the girls—already knew something of the plans and showed their interest by a succession of questions. John and Dick both looked anything but pleased. “Why couldn’t you do something in Philadelphia?” asked Dick, sulkily. “We had such a bully time last summer!” “Why don’t you take a motor trip to the coast?” returned Florence. “Last year we came to you—this year you come with us! Turn about is fair play!” “Don’t suggest it!” protested Alice, alarmed at the very mention of such a thing. “We’d never earn our cars with the boys following in our trail.” “People!” exclaimed Marjorie, suddenly struck by an inspiration. “I know something fine! It has just occurred to me that Mae lives in a town on the Lincoln Highway—the way we will undoubtedly go to the coast. And she has urged us all to visit her—so couldn’t we stop on our way out, and maybe you boys join us for a week-end?” “Where does she live?” asked Jack, doubtfully. He was not sure of being able to get away from the office whenever he desired. “Lima—in Ohio,” replied Doris. “It isn’t awfully far.” “But would it be right for a big crowd like this to descend upon her all at once?” inquired Daisy. “Mae wouldn’t mind,” Doris hastened to assure her. “You know she has a rather large house—and two servants—for Tom Melville has plenty of this world’s goods. In fact, I think she may be a little lonely, and would be overjoyed to see you.” “Then that settles it!” cried Marjorie. “I’ll write tomorrow and invite ourselves.” “But how do you know when to set the date for?” asked Florence. “We’ll have to work it all out by mathematics,” replied the latter. “There’s a lot of planning to be done, and equipment to be bought. We’ll have to name a committee.” “I propose you as chairman,” said Lily, immediately. “Because you’re our lieutenant—and you can pick your own committee.” “I second that motion!” exclaimed Ethel. highway infrastructure West Just at this point Marjorie’s brother commenced to chuckle to himself, as if he were enjoying some private joke. “Tell us, Jack, so we can have some fun,” suggested Ethel. “Oh, it’s nothing!” replied Jack. “Only—well, I don’t want to be a kill-joy, or anything like that, you know; but I just couldn’t help but think how funny it would be if somebody were playing a practical joke on you all.” “What do you mean?” demanded Marjorie. “Why, suppose you went ahead and made all your plans and bought a lot of things, and then found out in the end that the letter was all a joke—” “You mean that you don’t believe that I have an Aunt Emeline?” interrupted Alice. “No, not that. With due respect to your aunt, you must admit it’s a mighty unusual proposal for her to make to a bunch of girls she never saw, no matter if she is as rich as all get out. The proposition’s wild enough, but the idea of her giving each girl a runabout as a reward if she wins through—that’s what gets me.” “Anyone rich enough and crazy enough to pay our expenses would be crazy enough to do anything,” said Alice. “And she probably doesn’t expect us to win,” put in Florence. “Well, I’d wait till I saw a check for those expenses, if I were you; then, if it turned out to be a joke, you wouldn’t be so much out of pocket. That’s what I mean!” “Silly! As if we haven’t thought of those things!” exclaimed his sister. “I’ve been pinching myself every day, expecting to wake up from a dream—until Alice wrote a letter saying we could go, and then received that check by return mail. Think up some other excuse to keep us home, Jackie; that one won’t work.” “You needn’t worry about the money, Jack,” explained Alice. “It’s safely deposited in bank to my account!” “Well, anyway,” Jack replied, “I object to this party’s being turned into a business meeting. Let’s forget it—and dance!” “Jack is right,” agreed Doris. Then, turning to her husband, “Put on a record, Roger, and let’s begin.” The remainder of the evening passed entirely to the boys’ satisfaction. Chapter 3 - Planning The Trip [ edit ] If talking about the summer’s excursion could have hastened the date of the event, the weeks would have passed in rapid succession, for the Girl Scouts never grew tired of discussing its every aspect. Whenever two or three of them were together the conversation drifted inevitably to this one all important topic; at other times, when lessons were put aside for the evening or a Sunday afternoon offered an opportunity for rest, the five scouts would gather together in Marjorie’s sitting-room to talk of their plans. Sometimes they would discuss the country through which they were to motor, and read descriptions from books about the scenery; at other times they would be concerned with the actual problems of the trip; but invariably they would end up with the contemplation of their reward, giving expression to their dreams of owning motor-cars of their own. To the poorer girls the idea was too entrancing ever to lose its novelty; Florence and Daisy would talk for hours of the trips they meant to take, the people they would invite to go riding with them, the pleasure and the service they intended to give. Had it not been for these hours of happy anticipation the time would have seemed to pass slowly; all of the girls—even Marjorie, who was usually too busy to be bored—grew impatient of the months that intervened. car class navigation But at last the college term neared its close, and the scouts began to make definite preparations for their excursion. Marjorie selected her committee and planned to buy the equipment in Philadelphia, a week or so before the time to start. She had commissioned John Hadley to order the other automobile—a seven passenger touring car—and had thereby won an invitation for herself and Alice and Lily (the other two members of her committee) to stay with Mrs. Hadley while they were in Philadelphia. Recalling the pleasure and the convenience of a similar visit the preceding summer, when she was buying equipment for the tea-room, she accepted the invitation gratefully for herself and her companions. “I’m so glad I’m a member of this committee,” remarked Lily as their train pulled into Philadelphia; “so that we will have this week together. For I think it is going to be lots of fun.” “If it’s anything like last year it will,” returned Marjorie. “Ah, but remember that we had the boys then to make things lively,” observed Alice. “Well, we have them now. Aren’t we staying at John’s home—and isn’t my brother Jack working right here in Philadelphia—and ready to help us at any minute? And—” Marjorie glanced slyly at Lily—“I dare say Lil might be able to locate Dick Roberts if we needed him!” “It’s time to get our gloves on!” was all the reply her jest drew from Lily. “We’re slowing up already.”´ car Five minutes later the girls were seated in John Hadley’s Ford, driving through the city to the suburbs where his mother’s home was located. Marjorie as usual was in high spirits, but again John experienced that intangible sensation of jealousy because her happiness seemed to be caused rather by her bright expectations than by his mere presence. While she was asking him about the new car, he suddenly sighed audibly; somehow he felt that as long as the Girl Scouts continued to plan these novel undertakings, he would never hold anything but second place in Marjorie’s interest. The girl noticed the sigh, and asked him whether she were boring him. “Of course not!” he declared emphatically. “As if you ever could—” “Then what is it?” she asked sympathetically. “Only that I wish that I were a Girl Scout—to merit more of your attention.” Marjorie laughed merrily; she did not believe that the young man was in earnest. “You didn’t answer my question,” she persisted. “Has the car come yet?” “Yes; it’s in our garage.” “Oh, goody! Drive fast then, John. It seems as if I can’t wait a minute to see it!” Obedient to her command he put on all his power, in defiance of the speed laws in the city, and reached home in an incredibly short time for a Ford. Marjorie waited only to pay her respects to Mrs. Hadley; then without even removing her hat, she followed John’s machine out to the garage. There she found the new possession, shining and bright and handsome with its fresh paint and polished metal. affect car car model city driver driving garage law passenger scenery speed “Let’s get in and drive it immediately!” she cried. “I think it’s the most beautiful car I ever saw!” “Not the most beautiful,” corrected Lily. “At least I wouldn’t admit it could compare with my Rolls-Royce—” “Or my Ford!” put in John, and the girls all laughed. “It will be great to drive into town every day to do our shopping,” remarked Alice. “Won’t we feel grand—?” “I’m afraid that won’t be very satisfactory,” said John. “On account of the parking rules. You can’t leave a machine alone, you know; you would have to put it into a garage.” “We can easily do that,” remarked Alice, airily. “Money is scarcely a consideration with us now!” “Doesn’t that sound fine?” laughed Marjorie. “I guess it’s the first time in our lives that we were ever able to say that.” “And probably the last time,” added Lily. “Unless some of us marry those rich heirs of your aunt, Alice!” John glanced up apprehensively at this suggestion. “What’s this about rich heirs?” he asked, with so much concern that all three of the girls burst into laughter. “You’ll probably never see Marjorie again!” teased Alice. “When we meet these two cousins of mine who are destined to inherit all of Aunt Emeline’s money, Marj will just fall for them. And of course they’ll fall for her!” “Oh, of course!” said Marjorie, sarcastically. “Maybe some of us fellows had better take the trip in my tin Lizzie after all,” observed John. “Nothing doing!” protested Marjorie, emphatically. “We’d be sure to break our rule not to accept help from men along the way. And then we’d forfeit our trip, and our reward at the end, too.” “Well, I hope you don’t have any accidents along the way,” said John. “Though I do hate to think of you girls all by yourselves, so far away!” “Oh, you needn’t worry,” Alice reassured him. “Don’t forget we’re not just ordinary girls. We’re Girl Scouts!” affect car car model driving garage law parking By dint of much persuasion, Marjorie was induced to leave the garage and go into the house. Here she found new sources of interest; Mrs. Hadley had collected catalogues of sporting goods and books of advice upon motoring and crossing the country, and had piled them all upon the table in the living-room. The girls literally dived for them as soon as they realized what they were. “Of course we’ll need tents,” said Marjorie, turning immediately to the fascinating displays that were shown by the various dealers represented in the catalogues. “And look at these cunning little folding stoves!” cried Lily, pointing to an illustration that captured her eye. “Don’t forget dishes!” put in Alice. “They ought to be tin or aluminum—” “You better carry a revolver apiece,” cautioned John. “I don’t know about that,” remarked his mother. “The books and articles that I have read on the subject say that it is not necessary to carry that sort of protection. There is usually an unfailing courtesy to be found along the road, particularly in the west.” “But we have to go through the east to get to the west,” sighed Lily; “and it will be just our luck to encounter all sorts of obstacles—ghosts, or bootleggers, or bandits—just because we want so desperately to get there safely.” “But that only makes it so much more fun!” returned Marjorie. “Yes, I know you love danger, Marj. But one day you’ll love it too much. Sometimes it seems as if you almost court difficulties.” “Still, we always gain by them in the end!” she replied, triumphantly. “I’m more concerned about the little troubles—something going wrong with the car, for instance,” said Alice. “And I’m so afraid we’ll some of us be weak, and accept help, and—” “And be sent home like bad children!” supplied Marjorie. “Wouldn’t it be funny,” observed John, “if you would come home one by one until only Alice was left to return the car to her aunt! I’m afraid that I would just have to laugh!” “Well, if you did, you never need come around us again!” snapped Marjorie. “Girl Scouts wouldn’t want to see you—” “Then I promise to shed tears!” interrupted the young man, hastily. “However, nothing like that is going to happen,” said Marjorie, conclusively. “We’re going across the continent with flying colors, as all Girl Scouts could, if they had the chance. It’s the opportunity of a life-time!” car East risk West equipment The girls turned again to their catalogues, and made long lists of articles, stopping every few minutes to discuss flash-lights, spare-tires, khaki breeches, in fact anything that came into their minds or to their notice. Alice’s aunt had told them that she would stand the expenditures for the equipment, and they were only afraid that they would buy more than they could comfortably carry. Nor did this danger grow any less during the next few days when they actually beheld the things themselves in the stores. Alice and Lily both wanted to spend lavishly; it was Marjorie who laid the restraining hand upon them. At the end of three days their purchasing was completed; there yet remained the more difficult task of mapping out the trip. Authorities seemed generally to recommend the Lincoln Highway as a good route across the continent, so the girls were glad that their benefactor had stipulated this road. They planned to start from Philadelphia on the fifteenth of June, aiming to reach their destination by the first of August. highway infrastructure navigation “Provided we traveled one hundred miles a day, which really is not a tiring distance, we ought to be able to make the trip in thirty days,” Marjorie estimated. “And that will give us fifteen days surplus.” “We can surely afford three days at Mae’s,” announced Lily. “And perhaps we could visit some other school or college friends along the way.” But Marjorie shook her head decidedly. “No,” she said; “I am willing to visit Mae, but nobody else. We shall need every one of those twelve remaining days. Suppose we have to stop for repairs, or get lost, or are held up by a bad storm—” “That will do, Calamity Jane!” exclaimed Alice, putting her hand over Marjorie’s mouth. “We don’t expect any misfortunes at all!” “No, we don’t expect them, but we don’t want to lose our cars just because we didn’t allow enough time.” “Marj!” exclaimed John, suddenly. “I have it! If you get in trouble, wire for us, and we’ll put on skirts! We used that disguise effectively last year—why not now?” The girl gazed at him mournfully. “Too bad, John, but it couldn’t be done! Unfortunately we’ll be on our honor now, and we’d know you were boys. Unless—” she smiled at the idea—“unless you were clever enough to deceive us!” “Nobody’s clever enough to deceive you, Marjorie! Not that I want to, but—” “Speaking of deception,” interrupted Alice, “I have been wondering how my aunt is going to be sure that we do live up to her conditions. She doesn’t know us, or anything about our characters.” “Maybe she wrote to college for references,” suggested Marjorie. “Or maybe she knows the high standards of all Girl Scouts.” “Let us hope so!” said John. “But perhaps she knows about Alice, and judges you all from her.” “Anyhow,” concluded Marjorie, “we’ll send her a detailed plan of our trip, so she can check us up if she wants to. Then we’ll go ahead, with the motto of ‘do or die’!” car driving +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Lindsay, Vachel Genre Poetry Journal or Book Selected Poems of Vachel Lindsay Publisher Macmillan Year of Publication 1916 Pages 101-102 Additional information - Upon Returning to the Country Road rural On the road to nowhere What wild oats did you sow When you left your father's house With your cheeks aglow? Eyes so strained and eager To see what you might see? Were you thief of were you fool Or most nobly free? Were the tramp-days knightly, True sowing of wild seed? Did you dare to make the songs Vanquished workmen need? Did you waste much money To deck a leper's feast? Love the truth, defy the crowd Scandalize the priest? On the road to nowhere What wild oats did you sow? Stupids find the nowhere-road Dusty, grim and slow. metaphor plant road condition slowness Ere their sowing's ended They turn them on their track, Look at the caitiff craven wights Repentant, hurrying back! Grown ashamed of nowhere, Of rags endured for years, Lust for velvet in their hearts, Pierced with Mammon's spears, All but a few fanatics Give up their darling goal, Seek to be as others are, Stultify the soul. Reapings now confront them, Glut them, or destroy. Curious seeds, grain or weeds Sown with awful joy. Hurried is their harvest, They make soft peace with men. Pilgrims pass. They care not, Will not tramp again. O nowhere, golden nowhere! Sages and fools go on To your chaotic ocean, To your tremendous dawn. Far in your fair dream-haven, Is nothing or is all... They press on, singing, sowing Wild deeds without recall!inging, sowing Wild deeds without recall! +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author McKay, Claude Genre Poetry Journal or Book Constab Ballads Publisher Watts & Co. Year of Publication 1912 Pages 59-61 Additional information - Batch o' p'licemen, lookin' fine, Tramp away to de car line; No more pólicemen can be Smart as those from Half Way Tree: Happy, all have happy faces, For 'tis Knutsford Park big races. car No room in de tram fe stan': "Oh! de races will be gran',— Wonder ef good luck we'll hab, Get fe win a couple bob!" Joyous, only joyous faces, Goin' to de Knutsford races. Motor buggy passin' by, Sendin' dus' up to de sky; P'licemen, posted diffran' place, Buy dem ticket on de race: Look now for de anxious faces At de Knutsford Park big races! car exhaust pollution Big-tree boys a t'row dem dice: "P'lice te-day no ha' no v'ice,— All like we, so dem caan' mell,— Mek we gamble laka hell”: Rowdy, rowdy-looking faces At de Knutsford Park big races. Ladies white an' brown an' black, Fine as fine in gala frock, Wid dem race-card in dem han' Pass 'long to de dollar stan': Happy-lookin' lady faces At de Knutsford Park big races. Ge'men wid dem smart spy-glass, Well equip' fe spot dem harse, Dress' in Yankee-fashion clo'es, Watch de flag as do'n it goes: Oh! de eager, eager faces At de Knutsford Park big races! Faces of all types an' kinds, Faces showin' diffran' minds, Faces from de udder seas— Right from de antipodes: Oh! de many various faces Seen at Knutsford Park big races! Jockeys lookin' quite dem bes', In deir racin' clo'es all dress' (Judge de feelin's how dem proud) Show de harses to de crowd: Now you'll see de knowin' faces At de Knutsford Park big races. Soldier ban', formed in a ring, Strike up "God save our king"; Gub'nor come now by God's grace To de Knutsford Park big race: High faces among low faces At de Knutsford Park big races. Ladies, 'teppin' up quite cool, Buy dem tickets at de pool; Dough 'tis said he's got a jerk, Dere's no harse like Billie Burke: Look roun' at de cock-sure faces At de Knutsford Park big races. animal Hey! de flag is gone do'n, oh! Off at grips de harses go! Dainty's leadin' at a boun', Stirrup-cup is gainin' ground': Strainin', eager strainin' faces At de Knutsford Park big races. Last day o' de race—all's done, An' de course is left alone; Everybody's goin' home, Some more light dan when dey'd come: Oh! de sad, de bitter faces After Knutsford Park big races!es! +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Naylor, James Ball Genre Poetry Journal or Book Collier’s Publisher - Year of Publication 1909 Pages 22 Additional information - I’m the coy and ingenuous toy of the strenuous Era of Civilized Man, I’m the truly respectable, duly delectable Outcome of project and plan; And my gassy and thunderful, massy and wonderful Shape splits the landscape in twain, As I race where the fountain speaks grace to the mountain peaks— Then over valley and plain. driving mountain personification technology sound topography Oh! it’s—“honk, honk-honk!”—is the song I sing In the cool of the morning gray, And it’s—“honk, honk-honk!”—is the raucous ring Of my voice at the close of day; And the echoes wake—and the echoes quake, In their sylvan retreats afar; For I am the fizzing, the buzzing, and whizzing, Redoubtable Motor Car! car sound onomatopoeia speed I’m the snappiest, pluckiest, happy-go-luckiest Work of Man’s reckless career— The machine of divinity green asininity Never can conquer or steer; And there’s never a note or bar honked by the Motor Car Rounding an angle or curve, But it cheats the pedestrian—beats the equestrian— Out of his poise and his nerve. car driving sound pedestrian animal For it’s—“honk, honk-honk!”—is the song I sing In the blaze of the noonday bright, And it’s—“honk, honk-honk!”—is the raucous ring Of my voice in the starry night; And the echoes quake and shiver and shake, In their rocky retreats afar; For I am the puffing, the chugging, and chuffing And masterful Motor Car! car sound night Through the haze of the dreamiest days of the gleamiest Summers I speed to and fro, In the height of the glorious, mighty, uproarious Tempest I come and I go; I’m the tool and the servant, the cool and observant Rare creature of project and plan, And the coy and ingenuous toy of the strenuous Era of Civilized Man. metaphor summer technology wind personification And it’s—“honk, honk-honk!”—is the song I sing In the cool of the ev'ning’s hush. And it’s—“honk, honk-honk!”—is the raucous ring Of my voice in the morning’s blush; And in the echoes wake—and the echoes shake, In their woody retreats afar; For I am the purring, the whizzing, and whirring And marvelous Motor Car! car sound +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Oppenheim, James Genre Poetry Journal or Book Songs for the New Age Publisher The Century Co. Year of Publication 1914 Pages 23 Additional information - Of old the psalmist said that the morning stars sing together, He said the rocks do sing and that the hills rejoice... There be ten million ears in this little city alone... How many have heard the rocks, the hills and the stars? Not I, not I, as I hurried uptown and downtown! I heard the wheels of the cars, the chatter of many mouths, I was in the opera house when it seemed almost to burst with music, I heard the laughter of children, and the venom of mixed malicious tongues, But neither the stars I heard nor the muted rocks nor the hills! urban car car part sound David, of Asia, I do hear now... I do hear now the music of the spheres— I have stepped one step into the desert of Loneliness, I have turned my ear from the world to my own self... I have paused, stood still, listened. have paused, stood still, listened. +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Oppenheim, James Genre Poetry Journal or Book Songs for the New Age Publisher The Century Co. Year of Publication 1914 Pages 9-10 Additional information - Civilization! Everybody kind and gentle, and men giving up their seats in the car for the women... What an ideal! How bracing! car car part Is this what we want? Have so many generations lived and died for this? There have been Crusades, persecutions, wars, and majestic arts, There have been murders and passions and horrors since man was in the jungle... What was this blood-toll for? Just so that everybody could have a full belly and be well-mannered? But let us not fool ourselves: This civilization is mostly varnish very thinly laid on... Take any newspaper any morning: scan through it... Rape, murder, villany, and picking and stealing: The mob that tore a negro to pieces, the men that ravished a young girl: The safe-blowing gang and the fat cowardly promoter who stole people’s savings... Just scan it through: this news of civilization... Away then, with soft ideals: Brace yourself with bitterness: A drink of that biting liquor, the Truth... Let us not be afraid of ourselves, but face ourselves and confess what we are: Let us go backward a while that we may go forward: This is an excellent age for insurrection, revolt, and the reddest of revolutions...t, and the reddest of revolutions... +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Parker, Dorothy Genre Poetry Journal or Book Enough Rope Publisher Horace Liveright Year of Publication 1926 Pages 82 Additional information - Now it’s over, and now it’s done; Why does everything look the same? Just as bright, the unheeding sun,— Can’t it see that the parting came? People hurry and work and swear, Laugh and grumble and die and wed, Ponder what they will eat and wear,— Don’t they know that our love is dead? Just as busy, the crowded street; Cars and wagons go rolling on, Children chuckle, and lovers meet,— Don’t they know that our love is gone? No one pauses to pay a tear; None walks slow, for the love that’s through,— I might mention, my recent dear, I’ve reverted to normal, too. car street urban traffic +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Reynolds, Elsbery Washington Genre Poetry Journal or Book AutoLine o’Type Publisher The Book Supply Company Year of Publication 1924 Pages 20 Additional information - We wrote to a friend back east one day, And told him all we thought to say. We filled a dozen pages or more, Of the glories of this far western shore. He said, when he answered in reply, "I thought that heaven was up on high. From what you say of your state so fair, I think that heaven must be out there." "If your highways all are paved so grand, And stars so bright o'er all the land, The mountain streams beyond compare, Then surely heaven must be out there." infrastructure highway mountain river road surface sublime metaphysics "I thought that heaven was free from toil, But your letter says you till the soil. Yet, if you have such wonderful air, Where is heaven if not out there?" "The rising sun you say is fine, And the early morning like red wine. To be sure," he said, "I must declare, From what you write me heaven is there." "Have you received your starry crown?" He said, "Your cross, have you laid down, Do all the angels have blonde hair, In this heaven you write me of out there?" "You say it's filled with those who play, And more are coming every day, Yet, there is always room to spare. Please tell me more of heaven out there." We wrote him, "We can tell no more, But when you reach this western shore, Studebakers you'll see them everywhere." Then, he said, "Heaven is there." affect car car model west metaphysics —The Car with Character. —The Car with Character. +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Reynolds, Elsbery Washington Genre Poetry Journal or Book AutoLine o'Type Publisher The Book Supply Company Year of Publication 1924 Pages 150 Additional information - He went to war and gained renown, In every fight he stood his ground, Bullets passed him thick and fast, Not a scratch from first to last. We now relate this sorry fact, He’s been a month upon his back, On both his cheeks he’ll have a scar, He stepped in front of a motor car. car riskor car. car risk +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Reynolds, Elsbery Washington Genre Poetry Journal or Book AutoLine o'Type Publisher The Book Supply Company Year of Publication 1924 Pages 17 Additional information - When we view the mountains all around, From their vast stillness not a sound, They seem just like some silent friend On whom we safely can depend. They rise to proud and lofty height, Forbidding and dark are they at night. Their summits kiss the heavens high, They ever remind us God is nigh. If the mountains were never stationed there, We would not have the purified air, Nor would flowing rivers be sustained, If in the mountains it never rained. On mountain height both east and west, For every living mortal there is rest. We view the peaks in contemplation Of God's great plan for all creation. The clouds in glory round them spread, The sun in grandeur settles on their head. Winter stays to chill the month of May, The lightning fondly choose them for their play. The mountains grim forever stand, While men will roam about the land. Men are fond of other men to greet, Mountains never have been known to meet. Of the peaks around both high and low, The one we favor most is San Antonio. We like to go up there whene'er we can, It's easy in a Studebaker Six Sedan. mountain car model —The Car with Character. —The Car with Character. +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Reynolds, Elsbery Washington Genre Poetry Journal or Book AutoLine o'Type Publisher The Book Supply Company Year of Publication 1924 Pages 18 Additional information - 'Twas out on Garey north of town, They had their auto curtains down, Spooning there without a light, At ten o'clock the other night. urban car night We saw them by our headlight's glare, Through their windshield sitting there, Oblivious to the world around, They kissed and made but little sound. car part visibility pleasure 'Twas loves young dream possessed the two, The thing that once got hold of you, We smiled, we did not have the heart To cause the two to pull apart. In the shadows of the trees above, Their kisses told us of their love, No bliss to either one was missing, They put it all into their kissing. The fragrancy of flowers of spring, While she to him did tightly cling, Came to us from the little Miss, Each time her lips he gave a kiss. Their kisses did not sound so loud, As thunder from the stormy cloud, But the echoes will much longer last, From those he planted hard and fast. "I rest content, I kiss your eyes," He said, "How fast the evening flies! I kiss your hair in my delight, I'd like to kiss you all the night." You wonder how it was our fate, To hear so much that night so late. You can easy do such little tricks, With the Silent Studebaker Six. sound night technology car model —The Car wih Character. —The Car wih Character. +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Reynolds, Elsbery Washington Genre Poetry Journal or Book AutoLine o'Type Publisher The Book Supply Company Year of Publication 1924 Pages 181-182 Additional information - Married life is a funny thing, We take the fling with a wedding ring. With some its one continuous fight, They kick and scratch and sometimes bite. God made all things to live by pair, The beasts of field and birds of air He made to make no bad mistakes, But man he left to make some breaks. The creatures dumb of all the earth, By Nature’s laws are giving birth. But laws of God for good of man, By men are broken out of ban. When man does choose his mate for life, He would avoid so much of strife, If he would use his common sense, And not so often be so dense. For men who fail to keep in sight, The laws of God for doing right, The laws of man are also made, With price to pay if you evade. But married life will have its flaws, Till states alike have divorce laws. They’ve got to come to save the home, Or things will be just like Old Rome. Words so sweet and words of leaven, Are those of Mother, Home and Heaven. When these we learn and get them clear, No more divorce we then will fear. To man his married life’s a boon, If it is sweet and right in tune. But fights and scraps and family jars, Are worse than some old motor cars. car metaphor When trouble brews twixt man and wife, As troubles do in married life, Take our advice and seek a breaker, The best for you is a Studebaker. — The Car with Character. car model safety car model safety +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Reynolds, Elsbery Washington Genre Poetry Journal or Book AutoLine o'Type Publisher The Book Supply Company Year of Publication 1924 Pages 196 Additional information - There came to us a vision of life’s perpetual dream, We made our decision to follow up the gleam. We could build a fortune big and doubly sure, Raising market rabbits if the breed was pure. We bought up all the lumber in Curran’s lumber yard, Built a thousand hutches, for cost had no regard. Faithfully with many tools we labored every day, Fully settled in our mind we’d make the rabbits pay. We were told by rabbit men, buy only blooded stock, Every breeder of a kind would all the others knock. To get the weight it seemed to us the safe and easy way, Only raise the blooded stock of purest Belgian gray. So we bought at fancy price a hundred for a start, We’d show the rabbit men that we were very smart. We saw them grow and multiply, built castles in the air, Figured what we’d also buy from raising Belgian hare. A fleet of latest motor cars, the best ones ever built, Masterpieces, too, of art in frames of finest gilt. Profits from our rabbits would buy us many things, Wipe away the loss our orchard always brings. car sublime But rabbits often figure out in real the other way, We weren’t slow in finding out, buying Hinman hay. For every dollar rabbits brought two was spent for grain, We sold a million, more or less, but not a cent of gain. Had we the balance of our life raised only Belgian hare, In years a few, at best, our cupboard would be bare. A bankrupt we would turn to be and die a debtor slave, Rabbits beat the world to eat a man into his grave. Man is dreaming when he says, money he has made, Raising Belgian rabbits as his only line of trade. We had our fun, quit the game, for a better profit-maker, The rest of life we’ll be content in selling Studebaker. car model safety +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Reynolds, Elsbery Washington Genre Poetry Journal or Book AutoLine o'Type Publisher The Book Supply Company Year of Publication 1924 Pages 62 Additional information - law A friend, to us did come who’s sore, You should have heard his awful roar. A copper on the great high-way Caught him in a trap one day. highway infrastructure sound zoomorphism The trap was some few hundred feet, The cop was on his motor, fleet. With watch in hand he felt so nifty And made our friend out doing fifty. driving motorcycle speed car metaphor One second more and he’d done ninety, The cops they worked it almost nightly. No show our friend would ever get When face to face the judge he met. risk speed No one has yet a copper known Whose word’s not better than your own. No judge has ever yet been found With whom your word would fair go down. But now our friend’s in greatest glee, The palmy days are o’er you see. The law has stopped the use of traps To curb abuse of motor chaps. Our friend, to us he did confide That motor cops would have to ride. No more hiding by the road, No more chance our friend to goad. driving No more loafing on the job, No more innocents to rob. They must ride both night and day If they can hope to earn their pay. driving time No more poker in the shade, No more chance to make a raid. No more chance for them to hide, They must ride and ride and ride. driving It long has been our own opinion, That here within our small dominion, Many men have paid a fine Just from persecution blind. If all our officers were true And treated as the same as you, Our friend would then feel he were safer Where'er he'd go in a Studebaker. —The Car wih Character.acter. +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Sandburg, Carl Genre Poetry Journal or Book Chicago Poems Publisher Henry Holt and Company Year of Publication 1916 Pages 12 Additional information - Dust of the feet And dust of the wheels, Wagons and people going, All day feet and wheels. dust car part pedestrianism traffic urban Now. . . . . Only stars and mist A lonely policeman, Two cabaret dancers, Stars and mist again, No more feet or wheels, No more dust and wagons. car part dust Voices of dollars And drops of blood . . . . . Voices of broken hearts, . . Voices singing, singing, . . Silver voices, singing, Softer than the stars, Softer than the mist. +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Sandburg, Carl Genre Poetry Journal or Book Chicago Poems Publisher Henry Holt and Company Year of Publication 1916 Pages 153 Additional information - Let us be honest; the lady was not a harlot until she married a corporation lawyer who picked her from a Ziegfeld chorus. Before then she never took anybody's money and paid for her silk stockings out of what she earned singing and dancing. She loved one man and he loved six women and the game was changing her looks, calling for more and more massage money and high coin for the beauty doctors. Now she drives a long, underslung motor car all by her- self, reads in the day's papers what her husband is doing to the inter-state commerce commission, re- quires a larger corsage from year to year, and won- ders sometimes how one man is coming along with six women. car driver metaphorwomen. car driver metaphor +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Sandburg, Carl Genre Poetry Journal or Book Chicago Poems Publisher Henry Holt and Company Year of Publication 1916 Pages 54 Additional information - To the Williamson Brothers High noon. White sun flashes on the Michigan Avenue asphalt. Drum of hoofs and whirr of motors. Women trapsing along in flimsy clothes catching play of sun-fire to their skin and eyes. car sound road road surface traffic urban Inside the playhouse are movies from under the sea. From the heat of pavements and the dust of sidewalks, passers-by go in a breath to be witnesses of large cool sponges, large cool fishes, large cool valleys and ridges of coral spread silent in the soak of the ocean floor thousands of years. road road surface dust temperature pedestrian A naked swimmer dives. A knife in his right hand shoots a streak at the throat of a shark. The tail of the shark lashes. One swing would kill the swimmer... Soon the knife goes into the soft underneck of the veering fish... Its mouthful of teeth, each tooth a dagger itself, set row on row, glistens when the shuddering, yawning cadaver is hauled up by the brothers of the swimmer. Outside in the street is the murmur and singing of life in the sun—horses, motors, women trapsing along in flimsy clothes, play of sun-fire in their blood. road sound car sunshine urban road sound car sunshine urban +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Sandburg, Carl Genre Poetry Journal or Book Chicago Poems Publisher Henry Holt and Company Year of Publication 1916 Pages 96 Additional information - In the old wars drum of hoofs and the beat of shod feet. In the new wars hum of motors and the tread of rubber tires. In the wars to come silent wheels and whirr of rods not yet dreamed out in the heads of men. car car part engine risk sound technology In the old wars clutches of short swords and jabs into faces with spears. In the new wars long range guns and smashed walls, guns running a spit of metal and men falling in tens and twenties. In the wars to come new silent deaths, new silent hurlers not yet dreamed out in the heads of men. In the old wars kings quarreling and thousands of men following. In the new wars kings quarreling and millions of men following. In the wars to come kings kicked under the dust and millions of men following great causes not yet dreamed out in the heads of men.s not yet dreamed out in the heads of men. +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Sandburg, Carl Genre Poetry Journal or Book Cornhuskers Publisher Henry Holt and Company Year of Publication 1918 Pages 55 Additional information - It's a lean car… a long-legged dog of a car… a gray-ghost eagle car. The feet of it eat the dirt of a road… the wings of it eat the hills. Danny the driver dreams of it when he sees women in red skirts and red sox in his sleep. It is in Danny's life and runs in the blood of him… a lean gray-ghost car. animal zoomorphism car driver personificationersonification +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Shackelford, Otis M. Genre Poetry Journal or Book Seeking the Best Publisher Franklin Hudson Publishing Year of Publication 1909 Pages 98 Additional information - They would steal old master's horses, Fat and sleek and full of spirit; Steal them while that he was sleeping, Soundly sleeping in his mansion; From the stable would they steal them, Ride them upward through the valley To the place of fun and frolic, Till they reached the very doorway Of the place of fun and frolic. There a score or more of Negroes Would assemble in the night-time, Would assemble for their pleasure, After toiling hard the day long, After toiling hard the week long. Thus they whiled away their sorrow, Thus they made their burdens lighter, Thus they had their recreation, Through a life that was a struggle. road race animal struggle. road race animal +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Shanks, Charles B. Genre Non-Fiction Journal or Book Scientific American Publisher - Year of Publication 1901 Pages 81-90 Additional information - infrastructure road condition risk driving skill Covering the North American continent from the Pacific coast to the Atlantic Ocean in an automobile has been attempted by Alexander Winton, president of The Winton Motor Carriage Company, of Cleveland. That the expedition failed is no fault of the machine Mr. Winton used, nor was it due to absence of grit or determination on the part of the operator. Neither was the failure due to roads. The utter absence of roads was the direct and only cause. car ocean driver road infrastructure Having been with Mr. Winton on this trip, I saw and experienced things the like of which automobile drivers in every civilized portion of the North American continent know not of, nor can an active imagination be brought to picture the terrible abuse the machine had to take, or the hardships its riders endured in forcing and fighting the way from San Francisco to that point in Nevada where the project was abandoned—where Mr. Winton had forced upon him the positive conviction that to put an automobile across the sand hills of the Nevada desert was an utter impossibility under existing conditions. car infrastructure risk road condition Rock roads and deep snow in the high Sierras were encountered and mastered, streams were forded and washouts passed, adobe mud into which the machine sank deep and became tightly imbedded failed to change the plucky operator's mind about crowding the motor eastward toward the hoped-for goal. It was the soft, shifting, bottomless, rolling sand—not so bad to look upon from car windows, but terrible when actually encountered— that caused the abandonment of the enterprise and resulted in the announcement by wire to eastern newspaper connections that the trip was "off." adobe car car part driving mud road road condition To those who are interested in knowing what was met and mastered during the days we were out from San Francisco; to those who wish to learn some facts about automobiling in a section of this country where all kinds of climate and every condition of road may be encountered in a single day, the experiences of the short trip will satisfy. road condition Our expedition left the government building in San Francisco and started across the bay for Oakland at 7:15 A.M., Monday, May 20. Left ferry foot of Broadway and got on road at 8 A.M. Turned off Broadway at San Pablo Avenue heading for Port Costa, distance thirty-two miles, hoping to reach there in time to catch the Sacramento River ferry to cross with Southern Pacific Express No. 4, which left Oakland at 8:01 with schedule to reach Port Costa at 9:15 A.M. driving river West Instead of running the thirty-two miles, we clipped off forty-four between Oakland and Port Costa as a consequence of mistaking the road to San Pablo and going around by way of Martinez. Reached Port Costa too late for the No. 4 trip and had to wait until 11:17 A.M., when the transcontinental express (The Overland Limited) was ferried over. river train West All morning the sky, which during the three weeks preceding had been clear and bright, was heavy with clouds. Before the opposite bank of the Sacramento was touched, the clouds opened. And what an opening it was. Adobe roads when dry and hard hold out opportunities for good going, but when the sponge-like soil is soaked with moisture, when your wheels cut in, spin around, slip and slide from the course and suddenly your machine is off the road and into the swamp ditch—buried to the axles in the soft "doby"—then the fun begins. adobe weather car part driving risk river road road condition Pull out block and tackle, wade around in the mud, get soaked to the skin and chilled from the effects of the deluge, make fastenings to the fence or telephone post and pull. Pull hard, dig your heels into the mud, and exert every effort at command. The machine moves, your feet slip and down in the mud you go full length. Repeat the dose and continue the operation until the machine is free from the ditch and again upon the road. mud road driving slowness Tie ropes around the tires to prevent slipping. It may help some, but the measure is not entirely effective, for down in the bog you find yourself soon again and once more the block and tackle are brought into play. Slow work—not discouraging in the least, but a bit disagreeable, considering that it is the first day out and you are anxious to make a clever initial run. car part risk affect After twelve hours' severe experience and the rain still pouring down, halt is made abreast of a lane leading to a ranchman's home. This ranchman is A. W. Butler. He came down to the road and replying to interrogations tells you that to Rio Vista, nine miles ahead, the road is particularly bad because of plowing and grading. Arrangements are made for our staying all night with him. The machine is run in his barn, we eat supper with intense relish, go to bed and get up early to find more rain, but a breaking up of the clouds with prospect of sunshine later. road road condition night road surface Got upon the road 7:40 A.M. Reached Rio Vista and two miles further on to "Old River" at 8:40. Go east on the levee road, which is of adobe formation with steep descending banks on both sides. On the left side is the river; the opposite bank runs down to a thicket, beyond which are orchards. Slide off the treacherous road on either side and nothing short of a derrick and wrecking crew could serve to a practical and satisfactory end. adobe risk river road road side road surface rural scenery A few miles from the ferry, a tree had fallen across the road. Mr. Winton used the ax to splendid advantage and, after some delay, the road was clear, and we were going ahead once more. Reached Sacramento at 1:15 P.m., but delayed in California's capital city just long enough to take on five gallons of gasoline. One we went toward the Sierras, passing through Roseville, Rocklin, Loomis, Penry, New Castle, Auburn, Colfax, Cape Horn Mills, and when darkness was fast approaching halt was made in the little gold mining town of Gold Run. accident driving gasoline risk road tree West From Auburn the climb commenced, and when Colfax was reached and passed, Mr. Winton was busy with his skillful knowledge in crowding the machine up steep mountain grades, along dangerous shelf roads from which one might look deep into canons and listen to the distant roaring of rushing waters below. driving mountain risk driving skill road condition Ordinarily there would be great danger in speed under such conditions—and there may have been risk to life and limb at the time, but I knew Mr. Winton, I knew him for his skill and that there was no call for nervousness with him at the wheel, so I sat back and enjoyed the scenery. driver driving skill speed passenger risk scenery Reached Gold Run at 7:40 P.M., just in time to escape darkness and avoid going into camp on the mountain side. On such roads, or, rather, surrounded as we were by canons, operation in the dark could not be regarded as safe. Our run that day was 123 miles. risk road mountain road condition Next morning, May 22, at 6:45 o'clock, the ascent was recommenced. Up and up we went, winding around and turning in many directions--but always up. From Gold Run we passed along through Dutch Flat, Towle, Blue Canon, Emigrant Gap, Cisco, and on to Cascade. Roads became particularly rugged after leaving Gold Run, and when we reached Emigrant Gap the few inhabitants who make that their home told us fully what rock roads and snow deposits would have to be encountered between their station and across the summit down to Donner Lake. driving mountain snow road condition It was the universal opinion that if the machine could stand the punishment sure to be inflicted between the Gap and Donner Lake, it would not be troubled at any point east of the Sierras, between Truckee, Cal., and New York City. Leaving Emigrant Gap, the game commenced in earnest. Unbridged streams were encountered and the machine took to the water like a duck in high spirits. Splash she would go in, and drenched she would come out. The water would many times come up as high as the motor and up would go our feet to prevent them getting wet. driving infrastructure river personification car part road condition When the New Hampshire Rocks were met, trouble seemed to be ahead. I asked Mr. Winton if he would put the machine to what appeared to me the supreme and awful test. "Of course I will," was the short and meaning answer, and on went the machine. One big bump and I shot into the air like a rocket. I was not thrown from the machine, however, and thereafter busied myself hanging on with hands and bracing with feet. At every turn and twist in the road, the rocks grew larger, and I wondered if anything mechanical could stand the terrible punishment. passenger car part road condition The motor never flinched, its power never lagged, it pulled us through those rocks and up the stiff grades. Emigrants westward bound in the early days would never trust horses or mules to convey their wagons safely to the bottom of one particularly stiff and rugged grade which Mr. Winton caused the motor to ascend. Those early day pathfinders would tie a rope to the rear axle of the wagon, take a turn around a tree and lower it gently. car car part engine driving personification tree We at last got through the New Hampshire Rocks and began calculating what would be our fate in the snow immediately to be encountered. The Cascade Creek, swollen by the melting mountain snows to river proportions, caused a halt about one-half mile west from the commencement of what was expected to be bothersome snow. The water in the stream was clear and sparkling, the current swift, and the bottom filled with huge sharp rocks. Mr. Winton pulled in the lever, the machine forged ahead. Splash and bump, bump and splash. Front wheels struck something big and hard, they went up in the air and when coming down, almost at the east bank, the right front wheel with a wet tire struck a wet slanting rock. The wheel was hard put, something must give way—and it did. The front axle on the right side sustained an injury, and after a lurch ahead the machine came to a sudden standstill. accident car part driving personification river Mr. Winton sent me to hunt a telegraph station. Walked east for about a mile until I could look up the mountain side and see the railroad snow sheds with some sort of a station in an opening. I climbed up through the snow, over fallen trees, broke passage through tangled bushes, and finally came upon a surprised operator, who asked what the trouble was. It was a little telegraph station for railroad service only, but the dispatcher took my messages and repeated them to the Gap, from which point they were sent, one to the Winton factory at Cleveland, asking for duplicate of part damaged, and another to L. S. Keeley, of Emigrant Gap, to come for us and our effects and take us back to the Gap, where we would wait for the repair parts. The machine was left alone in the mountain wilderness. car car part maintenance risk road side Arrived at the Gap and Mr. Winton soon developed uneasiness because of the enforced delay in the trip. Next morning he announced his intention of making a temporary repair and working ahead slowly through the snow. maintenance snow road condition On the following morning (May 24) at 7 o'clock, the repair had been completed. When darkness enveloped us that evening, the machine had covered seventeen miles. And such a day of battle. When it was over, we had reached and passed the summit of the high Sierras, the machine was hard and fast in a snow bank at the bottom of "Tunnel No. 6 hill," a treacherous descent, along which there was great peril every moment. driving mountain risk We walked back to Summit Station and stayed at the hotel that night. Next morning, aided by some kindly disposed railroad men who could handle shovels most effectively, the machine was dislodged. equipment Since the day in the snow banks, I have called it to Mr. Winton's mind. He says that the frightful experiences of that day, the abuse and hardship to which the machine was subjected, stay in his mind like the remembrance of an ugly nightmare. During the entire day, working up there among the clouds, we were cold and drenched. When it did not rain, it snowed or hailed. On the 25th, after getting free from the snow bank and passing through a number of small deposits, we got to Truckee, where we took on fuel and went on to Hobart Mills, a delightful lumber town, where Mr. Winton decided we would stay during the following day, Sunday, and dry our clothes. Reached Hobart Mills in a terrific downpour. gasoline city The officials of the Sierra Nevada Wood and Lumber Company (the "company" owns the town and all there is in it) were particularly generous in bestowing upon us many courtesies and making the time we spent with them in Hobart Mills that of delightful remembrance. Monday, May 27, started 6 A.M. from Hobart Mills, and that afternoon, toward evening, reached Wadsworth, Nev., the western gate to one of the worst patches of desert sand in that section. That day was another of rain. The early morning hours were bright, but when Reno, Nev., was left behind the skies changed from blue to white, then to a dark color and the clouds that had so quickly formed opened and spilled their contents about and upon us. desert rain road condition Reached Wadsworth splashed and covered with mud, wet through and hungry. Spent night at Wadsworth. Residents warned Mr. Winton about sand, more especially the sand hill just east of the town. Next morning we took on stock of rations and drinking water. That "sand hill," or rather the remembrance of it and the balance of our trip to Desert Station that day, are like the remembrance of another beastly nightmare. desert mud road condition All during the afternoon, it rained and the wind blew a gale, but the temperature was high and we did not mind. Had it not been for the rain and its cooling effect there on the sand and sage brush desert, I doubt whether we could have stood it. desert wind temperature The storm that day caused us to speculate largely as to whether some of the many bolts of lightning hitting close around us would not strike the machine, demolish it completely, and incidentally put the operator and passenger out of business. driver lightning passenger car risk personification But a kind providence was with us during the storm, and the lightning kept off. Getting up the Wadsworth sand hill, we cut sage brush and kept piling it up in front of all four wheels to give them something to hold to and prevent slipping and burrowing in the soft sand until the machine was buried to the axles and it became necessary to use block, tackle, and shovels to pull up to the surface. Got to the top at last, but found no improvement in sand conditions. It was the hardest kind of work to make the slightest progress, but at 5:45 in the evening halted at Desert Station, a place inhabited by D. H. Gates, section boss, his wife, Train Dispatcher Howard (his office, cook house, etc., were all combined in a box car which had been set out on a short siding), and a dozen Japanese section hands. storm car part desert equipment road condition Passed the night comfortably, and when the road was taken next morning (May 29) at 6 o'clock, the sun was shining and Mr. Gates predicted no rain for the day. We found the roads somewhat improved and on and on we went through that vast country of magnificent distances. We were in the country where rattlesnakes were thickest, near Pyramid Rock, of which one writer says: "This rock pyramid is alleged to be the home of rattlesnakes so numerous as to defy extermination." road road condition When out of the machine and walking around bunches of sage brush care was exercised in keeping out of striking range of these venomous reptiles. Mr. Winton has some tail end rattles as trophies, but I was not so anxious to get close enough to kill the snakes and cut off their tails. parking road side animal That day we plunged through four unbridged streams, and in one place where a bad washout had occurred, it became necessary for us to build a bridge before the machine would “take the ditch.” We lugged railroad ties—many ties from a pile close to the railroad tracks some distance away. And they were heavier than five-pound boxes of chocolate, but we finally got enough and bumped the machine through and on its way. river infrastructure Mill City was reached shortly before 5 o'clock. The Southern Pacific agent there said we could never get to Winnemucca (thirty miles to the east) that night because of the sand hills; the quicksand would bury us, he said. Another man who came up discussed the sand proposition with Mr. Winton and told him that there would be only one way in which "that there thing" could get through this thirty miles' stretch of quicksand. "How?" asked Mr. Winton. "Load her on a flat car and be pulled to Winnemucca." "Not on your life," retorted the plucky automobilist; into the carriage I jumped, he pulled the lever and off we went. The course led up a hill, but there was enough bottom to the sand to give the wheels a purchase and from the hill summit we forged down into the valley where the country was comparatively level. Nothing in sight but sage brush and sand, sand and sage brush. car part driving desert driver passenger plant Two miles of it were covered. Progress was slow, the sand became deeper and deeper as we progressed. At last the carriage stopped, the driving wheels sped on and cut deep into the bottomless sand. We used block and tackle, got the machine from its hole, and tried again. Same result. Tied more ropes around wheels with the hope that the corrugation would give them sufficient purchase in the sand. Result: wheels cut deeper in less time than before. car part equipment road condition slowness It was a condition never encountered by an automobilist in the history of the industry. We were in soft, shifting quicksand where power counted as nothing. We were face to face with a condition the like of which cannot be imagined—one must be in it, fight with it, be conquered by it, before a full and complete realization of what it actually is will dawn upon the mind. risk road condition Mr. Winton said to me: "Do you know what we are up against here? I told the Plain Dealer I would put this enterprise through If it were possible. Right here we are met by the impossible. Under present conditions no automobile can go through this quicksand." I suggested loading the machine and sending it by freight to Winnemucca. "No, sir," he flashed back emphatically. "If we can't do it on our own power this expedition ends right here, and I go back with a knowledge of conditions and an experience such as no automobilist in this or any other country has gained." road condition car When, after serious deliberation, he decided to abandon the trip he said: "If I attempt this game again, I will construct a machine on peculiar lines. No man who expects to operate in the civilized portions of this continent would take the machine for his individual service about cities and throughout ordinary country, but I tell you it will go through sand—and this quicksand at that." There is nothing more to tell. We left Mill City that night and rode into Winnemucca on a freight train. The machine, aided by its own power, had been hauled from its bed by horses and returned to Mill City, where arrangements were made to load it for Cleveland. We left Winnemucca May 30, at 2:40 P.M. on a Southern Pacific passenger train, and arrived in Cleveland June 2, at 7:35 P.M. train +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Teasdale, Sara Genre Poetry Journal or Book Rivers to the Sea Publisher MacMillan Year of Publication 1915 Pages 23 Additional information - The shining line of motors, The swaying motor-bus, The prancing dancing horses Are passing by for us. car traffic The sunlight on the steeple, The toys we stop to see, The smiling passing people Are all for you and me. "I love you and I love you"— "And oh, I love you, too!"— "All of the flower girl's lilies Were only grown for you!" Fifth Avenue and April And love and lack of care — The world is mad with music Too beautiful to bear. music road spring urbansic road spring urban +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Unknown Genre Poetry Journal or Book Motor Land Publisher - Year of Publication 1922 Pages 23 Additional information - I am the Spirit of Things that Are, Born of an urgent need, Of the Force that lies In a Man's surmise In a day ere the Age of Speed. metaphor speed I was at hand when the primal herd Toiled o'er the heavy sledge, As they dragged their load To their cave abode By the rippling river's edge. Mine was the thought in that early day, Stirred for the human weal, That inspired the sage In that darkened age With that vision of Life—the Wheel. Then came the horse as the slave of man, Carriage and coach and four, And the years flashed by And the time was nigh, To reveal what the future bore. Then came the quickening urge of Trade, Commerce must travel far, And my wings I gave To this earth-born slave With the joys of the motor car. car metaphor pleasure sublime I am the Spirit of Things that Are, Born of an urgent need, Of the Force that lies In a Man's surmise In a day ere the Age of Speed. metaphor speed Speed. metaphor speed +
Bibliographic Information Author … Bibliographic Information Author Untermeyer, Louis Genre Poetry Journal or Book American Poetry Publisher Hartcourt , Brace and Company Year of Publication 1922 Pages 114 Additional information - What nudity is beautiful as this Obedient monster purring at its toil; These naked iron muscles dripping oil And the sure-fingered rods that never miss. This long and shining flank of metal is Magic that greasy labor cannot spoil; While this vast engine that could rend the soil Conceals its fury with a gentle hiss. zoomorphism engine personification metaphor sound oil It does not vent its loathing, does not turn Upon its makers with destroying hate. It bears a deeper malice; lives to earn Its master's bread and laughs to see this great Lord of the earth, who rules but cannot learn, Become the slave of what his slaves create. metaphysics personification metaphysics personification +