A better way for a man to do would be to stop blaming the locomotive, and stop running along out of breath beside it, and climb up into the cab.
This is the whole issue of art in our modern civilization—climbing up into the cab.
First come the Machine-Trainers, or poets who can tame engines. Then the other poets.
In the meantime, the less we hear about nightingales and poppies and dells and love and above, the better.
Poetry must make a few iron-handed, gentle-hearted, mighty men next. It is because we demand and expect the beautiful that we say that poetry must make men next.
The elephants have been running around in the garden long enough.
CHAPTER II
BELLS AND WHEELS
We are living in a day of the great rebellion of the machines. Out of a thousand thousand roundhouses and factories, vast cities and nations of machines on the land and on the sea have risen before the soul of man and said, "We have served you; now, you serve us."