From winter to spring making music forever?
I heard its first tones by an old-fashioned hearth,
'Twas an anthem's faint cry on the brink of its birth!
'Twas the tea-kettle's drowsy and droning refrain,
As it sang through its nose as it swung from the crane.
Twas a being begun and awaiting its brains—
To be saddled and bridled and given the reins.
Now its lungs are of steel and its breathings of fire,
And it craunches the miles with an iron desire,
Its white cloud of a mane like a banner unfurled,