Travel

by Edna St. Vincent Millay

     The railroad track is miles away,
       And the day is loud with voices speaking,
     Yet there isn't a train goes by all day
       But I hear its whistle shrieking.

     All night there isn't a train goes by,
       Though the night is still for sleep and dreaming
     But I see its cinders red on the sky,
       And hear its engine steaming.

     My heart is warm with the friends I make,
       And better friends I'll not be knowing,
     Yet there isn't a train I wouldn't take,
       No matter where it's going.