The poem
For five and twenty years I've run A famous train; But now my spell of speed is done, No more I'll strain My sight along the treadless tracks, The gleamy rails: My hand upon the throttle slacks, My vision fails.
No more I'll urge my steed of steel Through hostile nights; No more the mastery I'll feel Of monster might. I'll miss the hiss of giant steam, The clank, the roar; The agony of brakes that scream I'll hear no more.
Oh I have held within my hand A million lives; And now my son takes command And proudly drives; While from my cottage wistfully I watch his train, And wave and wave and seem to see Myself again.