Classic Poem

Gold, jewels, ore, steel, coal—
Have them for flight, fire, wealth, decoration, honor;
Me you cannot honor,
Me you cannot change.
I am steel to your engines,
oil to your ships,
coal to your fires,
jewels to your women,
home to your exiles;
Me you cannot honor,
Me you cannot change.

The voice of my critics is mist,
Never rising to my height,
Never reaching my depth.

Some say: “It is a machine!”
Some: “It would look better cut into chunks.”
Some call jeeringly: “It is a bath-tub!”
Some: “It is a crock; wait till it cracks.”

Homely as a box of matches
I am as many flames, as many causes
I am the aeroplane
The roar of my engine hushes all other sounds,
Yet I can see the earth and sky.
I am the telephone
I am heard before all other voices.
I am electric light
I see everywhere.

I am the typewriter
All men read me.
I am jazz-music
I keep beauty from growing stout.
I am the gramophone and cinema
I shall not die.

My tall steel bones are wedded to a maid
Whose breasts are the curve in a road
That hides a friend.
My grief is short and stark as a flock of birds
In a gray northern sky.
My joy is like a train rushing through the night
With bells ringing and whistles blowing.

You who come to me with printed paper hearts
Will hear only the clatter of iron hoofs
Resounding from black stone heavens.
You who ask my confidence with sly enameled eyes
Will find gold titles and fine bindings.
The crocodile dozes in the sun
A thousand years—
He has a tough skin to scratch,
Let the crocodile be my historian.
You who would have me for a horse
On which to go marketing
Should bring cushioned saddles,
My back is hard.
I am an iron Pegasus
Riding between the sun and the moon
For the man who can ride me.
Gold, jewels, ore, steel, coal—
Have them for flight, fire, wealth, decoration, honor;
Me you cannot honor,
Me you cannot change.