SiR: the context is in the tone...
this train has that... a big... mEATy... ENGINE...
a 'fierce-throated beauty! ' and that can pull through
mordant trials, up tracks that contend sacred cast, and
with a string o' cars n' coaches, myriad in nature.

i...

i like to see it lap the miles
and lick the valleys up
and stop to feed itself at tanks,
and then - prodigious - step
around a pile of mountains,
and supercilious peer
in shanties, by the sides of roads.
And then, a quarry pare
to fit its ribs
and crawl between
complaining all the while
in horrid - hooting stanza -
then...
chase itself down hill
and neigheee like Boanerges.
And prompter than a Star
STOP! docile... omnipotent...
at it's own stable door.

THIS train is long - true - but
full of a mystical candy,
exclusive portions too sweet
to taste, for the negligible palates, o'...
mere... mortal... men....

._.

Dog goD 8Hate

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-emily-dickson-encomium/