A poem moves forward, <br />Like the passages and percussions of trains in progress <br />A pattern of recurrence, a hammer of repetetiveoccurrence <br /> <br />a slow less and less heard <br />low thunder under all passengers <br /> <br />Steel sounds tripping and tripled and <br />Grinding, revolving, gripping, turning, and returning <br />as the flung carpet of the wide countryside spreads out on <br />each side in billows <br /> <br />And in isolation, rolled out, white house, red barn, squat silo, <br />Pasture, hill, meadow and woodland pasture <br />And the striped poles step fast past the train windows <br />Second after second takes snapshots, clicking, <br />Into the dangled boxes of glinting windows <br />Snapshots and selections, rejections, at angles, of shadows <br />A small town: a shop's sign - GARAGE, and then white gates <br />Where waiting cars wait with the unrest of trembling <br />Breathing hard and idling, until the slow~descent <br />Of the red cones of sunset: a dead march: a slow tread and heavy <br /> <br />Of the slowed horses of Apollo <br />- Until the slowed horses of Apollo go over the horizon <br />And all things are parked, slowly or willingly, <br />into the customary or at random places.<br /><br />Delmore Schwartz<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-journey-of-a-poem-compared-to-all-the-sad-va/
