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Lockerbie Street +
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 navigation  
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She being Brand +
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  
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Portrait of a Motor Car +
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 personification  +
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Indignation and Jubilation +
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.  
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Portrait of a Machine +
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  +
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Our California +
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.  +
On The Road to Nowhere +
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!  +
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Spring in California +
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 spring  +
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Kisses by the Roadside +
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.  +
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Main Street +
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 sublime  
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The Morning Stars +
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.  +
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In a Breath +
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  +
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The Girl Scouts' Motor Trip +
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  
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May Day +
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 urban  +
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XXII +
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.  
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Wars +
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.  +
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The Bridge: IV Cape Hatteras +
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 31-39 Additional information - animal East The seas all crossed, weathered the capes, the voyage done... —WALT WHITMAN Imponderable the dinosaur sinks slow, the mammoth saurian ghoul, the eastern Cape.. animal East While rises in the west the coastwise range, slowly the hushed land— Combustion at the astral core—the dorsal change Of energy—convulsive shift of sand... But we, who round the capes, the promontories Where strange tongues vary messages of surf Below grey citadels, repeating to the stars The ancient names—return home to our own Hearths, there to eat an apple and recall The songs that gypsies dealt us at Marseille Or how the priests walked—slowly through Bombay— Or to read you, Walt,—knowing us in thrall West engine metaphor coast intertext To that deep wonderment, our native clay Whose depth of red, eternal flesh of Pocahontus— Those continental folded aeons, surcharged With sweetness below derricks, chimneys, tunnels— Is veined by all that time has really pledged us... And from above, thin squeaks of radio static, The captured fume of space foams in our ears— What whisperings of far watches on the main Relapsing into silence, while time clears Our lenses, lifts a focus, resurrects A periscope to glimpse what joys or pain Our eyes can share or answer—then deflects Us, shunting to a labyrinth submersed Where each sees only his dim past reversed... Native American infrastructure oil technology sound But that star-glistered salver of infinity, The circle, blind crucible of endless space, Is sliced by motion,—subjugated never. Adam and Adam's answer in the forest Left Hesperus mirrored in the lucid pool. Now the eagle dominates our days, is jurist Of the ambiguous cloud. We know the strident rule Of wings imperious... Space, instantaneous, Flickers a moment, consumes us in its smile: A flash over the horizon—shifting gears— And we have laughter, or more sudden tears. Dream cancels dream in this new realm of fact From which we wake into the dream of act; Seeing himself an atom in a shroud— Man hears himself an engine in a cloud! night animal car part stars engine metaphor driving "—Recorders ages hence"—ah, syllables of faith! Walt, tell me, Walt Whitman, if infinity Be still the same as when you walked the beach Near Paumanok—your lone patrol—and heard the wraith Through surf, its bird note there a long time falling... For you, the panoramas and this breed of towers, Of you—the theme that's statured in the cliff, O Saunterer on free ways still ahead! Not this our empire yet, but labyrinth Wherein your eyes, like the Great Navigator's without ship, Gleam from the great stones of each prison crypt Of canyoned traffic... Confronting the Exchange, Surviving in a world of stocks,—they also range Across the hills where second timber strays Back over Connecticut farms, abandoned pastures,— Sea eyes and tidal, undenying, bright with myth! intertext traffic metaphor agriculture animal The nasal whine of power whips a new universe... Where spouting pillars spoor the evening sky, Under the looming stacks of the gigantic power house Stars prick the eyes with sharp ammoniac proverbs, New verities, new inklings in the velvet hummed Of dynamos, where hearing's leash is strummed... Power's script,—wound, bobbin-bound, refined— Is stropped to the slap of belts on booming spools, spurred Into the bulging bouillon, harnessed jelly of the stars. Towards what? The forked crash of split thunder parts Our hearing momentwise; but fast in whirling armatures, As bright as frogs' eyes, giggling in the girth Of steely gizzards—axle-bound, confined In coiled precision, bunched in mutual glee The bearings glint,—O murmurless and shined In oilrinsed circles of blind ecstasy! sound pollution infrastructure oil car part thunder animal Stars scribble on our eyes the frosty sagas, The gleaming cantos of unvanquished space... O sinewy silver biplane, nudging the wind's withers! There, from Kill Devils Hill at Kitty Hawk Two brothers in their twinship left the dune; Warping the gale, the Wright windwrestlers veered Capeward, then blading the wind's flank, banked and spun What ciphers risen from prophetic script, What marathons new-set between the stars! The soul, by naphtha fledged into new reaches Already knows the closer clasp of Mars,— New latitudes, unknotting, soon give place To what fierce schedules, rife of doom apace! night stars wind speed plane Behold the dragon's covey—amphibian, ubiquitous To hedge the seaboard, wrap the headland, ride The blue's cloud-templed districts unto ether... While Iliads glimmer through eyes raised in pride Hell's belt springs wider into heaven's plumed side. O bright circumferences, heights employed to fly War's fiery kennel masked in downy offings,— This tournament of space, the threshed and chiselled height, Is baited by marauding circles, bludgeon flail Of rancorous grenades whose screaming petals carve us Wounds that we wrap with theorems sharp as hail! intertext Wheeled swiftly, wings emerge from larval-silver hangars. Taut motors surge, space-gnawing, into flight; Through sparkling visibility, outspread, unsleeping, Wings clip the last peripheries of light... Tellurian wind-sleuths on dawn patrol, Each plane a hurtling javelin of winged ordnance, Bristle the heights above a screeching gale to hover; Surely no eye that Sunward Escadrille can cover! There, meaningful, fledged as the Pleiades With razor sheen they zoom each rapid helix! Up-chartered choristers of their own speeding They, cavalcade on escapade, shear Cumulus— Lay siege and hurdle Cirrus down the skies! While Cetus-like, O thou Dirigible, enormous Lounger Of pendulous auroral beaches,—satellited wide By convoy planes, moonferrets that rejoin thee On fleeing balconies as thou dost glide, —Hast splintered space! metaphor car speed visibility driving wind car part weapon intertext technology Low, shadowed of the Cape, Regard the moving turrets! From grey decks See scouting griffons rise through gaseous crepe Hung low... until a conch of thunder answers Cloud-belfries, banging, while searchlights, like fencers, Slit the sky's pancreas of foaming anthracite Toward thee, O Corsair of the typhoon,—pilot, hear! Thine eyes bicarbonated white by speed, O Skygak, see How from thy path above the levin's lance Thou sowest doom thou hast nor time nor chance To reckon—as thy stilly eyes partake What alcohol of space...! Remember, Falcon-Ace, Thou hast there in thy wrist a Sanskrit charge To conjugate infinity's dim marge— Anew...! plane But first, here at this height receive The benediction of the shell's deep, sure reprieve! Lead-perforated fuselage, escutcheoned wings Lift agonized quittance, tilting from the invisible brink Now eagle-bright, now quarry-hid, twist- -ing, sink with Enormous repercussive list- -ings down Giddily spiralled gauntlets, upturned, unlooping In guerrilla sleights, trapped in combustion gyr- Ing, dance the curdled depth down whizzing Zodiacs, dashed (now nearing fast the Cape!) down gravitation's vortex into crashed ...dispersion...into mashed and shapeless débris.... By Hatteras bunched the beached heap of high bravery! plane * The stars have grooved our eyes with old persuasions Of love and hatred, birth,—surcease of nations... But who has held the heights more sure than thou, O Walt!—Ascensions of thee hover in me now As thou at junctions elegiac, there, of speed With vast eternity, dost wield the rebound seed! The competent loam, the probable grass,—travail Of tides awash the pedestal of Everest, fail Not less than thou in pure impulse inbred To answer deepest soundings! O, upward from the dead Thou bringest tally, and a pact, new bound, Of living brotherhood! intertext Thou, there beyond— Glacial sierras and the flight of ravens, Hermetically past condor zones, through zenith havens Past where the albatross has offered up His last wing-pulse, and downcast as a cup That's drained, is shivered back to earth—thy wand Has beat a song, O Walt,—there and beyond! And this, thine other hand, upon my heart Is plummet ushered of those tears that start What memories of vigils, bloody, by that Cape,— Ghoul-mound of man's perversity at balk And fraternal massacre! Thou, pallid there as chalk, Hast kept of wounds, O Mourner, all that sum That then from Appomattox stretched to Somme! Cowslip and shad-blow, flaked like tethered foam Around bared teeth of stallions, bloomed that spring When first I read thy lines, rife as the loam Of prairies, yet like breakers cliffward leaping! O, early following thee, I searched the hill Blue-writ and odor-firm with violets, 'til With June the mountain laurel broke through green And filled the forest with what clustrous sheen! Potomac lilies, — then the Pontiac rose, And Klondike edelweiss of occult snows! White banks of moonlight came descending valleys— How speechful on oak-vizored palisades, As vibrantly I following down Sequoia alleys Heard thunder's eloquence through green arcades Set trumpets breathing in each clump and grass tuft—'til Gold autumn, captured, crowned the trembling hill! Panis Angelicus! Eyes tranquil with the blaze Of love's own diametric gaze, of love's amaze! Not greatest, thou,—not first, nor last,—but near And onward yielding past my utmost year. Familiar, thou, as mendicants in public places; Evasive—too—as dayspring's spreading arc to trace is:— Our Meistersinger, thou set breath in steel; And it was thou who on the boldest heel Stood up and flung the span on even wing Of that great Bridge, our Myth, whereof I sing! Years of the Modern! Propulsions toward what capes? But thou, Panis Angelicus, hast thou not seen And passed that Barrier that none escapes— But knows it leastwise as death-strife?—O, something green, Beyond all sesames of science was thy choice Wherewith to bind us throbbing with one voice, New integers of Roman, Viking, Celt— Thou, Vedic Caesar, to the greensward knelt! And now, as launched in abysmal cupolas of space, Toward endless terminals, Easters of speeding light— Vast engines outward veering with seraphic grace On clarion cylinders pass out of sight To course that span of consciousness thou'st named The Open Road—thy vision is reclaimed! What heritage thou'st signalled to our hands! infrastructure road engine car part vision And see! the rainbow's arch—how shimmeringly stands Above the Cape's ghoul-mound, O joyous seer! Recorders ages hence, yes, they shall hear In their own veins uncancelled thy sure tread And read thee by the aureole 'round thy head Of pasture-shine, Panis Angelicus! Yes, Walt, Afoot again, and onward without halt,— Not soon, nor suddenly,—No, never to let go My hand in yours, Walt Whitman— so— road rainbow intertext  
B
Baby +
Bibliographic Information Author Hughes, Langston Genre Poetry Journal or Book The Collected Poems of Langston Hughes Publisher Vintage Classics Year of Publication pre 1930 Pages 120 Additional information - Albert! Hey, Albert! Don't you play in dat road. You see dem trucks A-goin' by. One run ovah you An' you die. Albert, don't you play in dat road. road car truck accident death risk traffic  +
F
From the very first coming down +
Bibliographic Information Author Auden, Wystan Hugh Genre Poetry Journal or Book - Publisher - Year of Publication 1928 Pages 39 Additional information - From the very first coming down Into a new valley with a frown Because of the sun and a lost way, You certainly remain: to-day I, crouching behind a sheep-pen, heard Travel across a sudden bird, Cry out against the storm, and found The year’s arc a completed round And love’s worn circuit re-begun, Endless with no dissenting turn. Shall see, shall pass, as we have seen The swallow on the tile, spring’s green Preliminary shiver, passed A solitary truck, the last Of shunting in the Autumn. But now To interrupt the homely brow, Thought warmed to evening through and through Your letter comes, speaking as you, Speaking of much but not to come. road animal storm season other mobilities car affect metaphor Nor speech is close nor fingers numb, If love not seldom has received An unjust answer, was deceived. I, decent with the seasons, move Different or with a different love, Nor question overmuch the nod, The stone smile of this country god That never was more reticent, Always afraid to say more than it meant.  +
C
Chaplinesque +
Bibliographic Information Author Crane, Hart Genre Poetry Journal or Book The Collected Poems of Hart Crane Publisher - Year of Publication 1926 Pages 73-74 Additional information - We make our meek adjustments, Contented with such random consolations As the wind deposits In slithered and too ample pockets. For we can still love the world, who find A famished kitten on the step, and know Recesses for it from the fury of the street, Or warm torn elbow coverts. town urban animal street traffic risk anthropomorphism We will sidestep, and to the final smirk Dally the doom of that inevitable thumb That slowly chafes its puckered index toward us, Facing the dull squint with what innocence And what surprise! And yet these fine collapses are not lies More than the pirouettes of any pliant cane; Our obsequies are, in a way, no enterprise. We can evade you, and all else but the heart: What blame to us if the heart live on. The game enforces smirks; but we have seen The moon in lonely alleys make A grail of laughter of an empty ash can, And through all sound of gaiety and quest Have heard a kitten in the wilderness.  +
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