Only in sleep shall hear again thy bell’s tinck-tinckling light,
And when I move my dreaming arm to brake thy gathering speed,
Then must I starting wake to wish thou wert sold, my iron steed.
Ah, rudely then, unseen by me, some traveller may deride
On finding here thy rusted frame upon this lone way-side,
While paraffin, that tear-like wells slow through thy lamp’s cracked pane,
His careless nose will so surprise that on he’ll start again.
Will folks ill-use thee? If I thought—but no, that couldn’t be;
Thou art so smashed, howe’er disturb’d, no harm can come to thee.
And yet, if haply when I’m gone for thee again I yearn,