Robert William Service (Роберт Уильям Сервис)

Old Engine Driver

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.

1. Music in the Bush
2. The Rhyme of the Remittance Man
3. The Little Old Log Cabin
4. The Younger Son
5. The March of the Dead

Распечатать (To print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1718

Последние стихотворения

To English version