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Best Famous Iron Horse Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Iron Horse poems. This is a select list of the best famous Iron Horse poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Iron Horse poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of iron horse poems.

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Written by William Topaz McGonagall | Create an image from this poem

Saving a Train

 'Twas in the year of 1869, and on the 19th of November,
Which the people in Southern Germany will long remember,
The great rain-storm which for twenty hours did pour down,
That the rivers were overflowed and petty streams all around.
The rain fell in such torrents as had never been seen before, That it seemed like a second deluge, the mighty torrents' roar, At nine o'clock at night the storm did rage and moan When Carl Springel set out on his crutches all alone -- From the handsome little hut in which he dwelt, With some food to his father, for whom he greatly felt, Who was watching at the railway bridge, Which was built upon a perpendicular rocky ridge.
The bridge was composed of iron and wooden blocks, And crossed o'er the Devil's Gulch, an immense cleft of rocks, Two hundred feet wide and one hundred and fifty feet deep, And enough to make one's flesh to creep.
Far beneath the bridge a mountain-stream did boil and rumble, And on that night did madly toss and tumble; Oh! it must have been an awful sight To see the great cataract falling from such a height.
It was the duty of Carl's father to watch the bridge on stormy nights, And warn the on-coming trains of danger with the red lights; So, on this stormy night, the boy Carl hobbled along Slowly and fearlessly upon his crutches, because he wasn't strong.
He struggled on manfully with all his might Through the fearful darkness of the night, And half-blinded by the heavy rain, But still resolved the bridge to gain.
But when within one hundred yards of the bridge, it gave way with an awful crash, And fell into the roaring flood below, and made a fearful splash, Which rose high above the din of the storm, The like brave Carl never heard since he was born.
Then; 'Father! father!' cried Carl in his loudest tone, 'Father! father!' he shouted again in very pitiful moans; But no answering voice did reply, Which caused him to heave a deep-fetched sigh.
And now to brave Carl the truth was clear That he had lost his father dear, And he cried, 'My poor father's lost, and cannot be found, He's gone down with the bridge, and has been drowned.
' But he resolves to save the on-coming train, So every nerve and muscle he does strain, And he trudges along dauntlessly on his crutches, And tenaciously to them he clutches.
And just in time he reaches his father's car To save the on-coming train from afar, So he seizes the red light, and swings it round, And cried with all his might, 'The bridge is down! The bridge is down!' So forward his father's car he drives, Determined to save the passengers' lives, Struggling hard with might and main, Hoping his struggle won't prove in vain.
So on comes the iron-horse snorting and rumbling, And the mountain-torrent at the bridge kept roaring and tumbling; While brave Carl keeps shouting, 'The bridge is down! The bridge is down!' He cried with a pitiful wail and sound.
But, thank heaven, the engine-driver sees the red light That Carl keeps swinging round his head with all his might; But bang! bang! goes the engine with a terrible crash, And the car is dashed all to smash.
But the breaking of the car stops the train, And poor Carl's struggle is not in vain; But, poor soul, he was found stark dead, Crushed and mangled from foot to head! And the passengers were all loud in Carl's praise, And from the cold wet ground they did him raise, And tears for brave Carl fell silently around, Because he had saved two hundred passengers from being drowned.
In a quiet village cemetery he now sleeps among the silent dead, In the south of Germany, with a tombstone at his head, Erected by the passengers he saved in the train, And which to his memory will long remain.

Written by Nazim Hikmet | Create an image from this poem

Regarding Art

 Sometimes, I, too, tell the ah's
of my heart one by one
like the blood-red beads
of a ruby rosary strung
 on strands of golden hair!

But my
poetry's muse
takes to the air
on wings made of steel
like the I-beams
 of my suspension bridges!

I don't pretend
 the nightingale's lament
to the rose isn't easy on the ears.
But the language that really speaks to me are Beethoven sonatas played on copper, iron, wood, bone, and catgut.
You can "have" galloping off in a cloud of dust! Me, I wouldn't trade for the purest-bred Arabian steed the sixth mph of my iron horse running on iron tracks! Sometimes my eye is caught like a big dumb fly by the masterly spider webs in the corners of my room.
But I really look up to the seventy-seven-story, reinforced-concrete mountains my blue-shirted builders create! Were I to meet the male beauty "young Adonis, god of Byblos," on a bridge, I'd probably never notice; but I can't help staring into my philosopher's glassy eyes or my fireman's square face red as a sweating sun! Though I can smoke third-class cigarettes filled on my electric workbenches, I can't roll tobacco - even the finest- in paper by hand and smoke it! I didn't -- "wouldn't" -- trade my wife dressed in her leather cap and jacket for Eve's nakedness! Maybe I don't have a "poetic soul"? What can I do when I love my own children more than mother Nature's!
Written by Rudyard Kipling | Create an image from this poem

Public Waste

 By the Laws of the Family Circle 'tis written in letters of brass
That only a Colonel from Chatham can manage the Railways of State,
Because of the gold on his breeks, and the subjects wherein he must pass;
Because in all matters that deal not with Railways his knowledge is great.
Now Exeter Battleby Tring had laboured from boyhood to eld On the Lines of the East and the West, and eke of the North and South; Many Lines had he built and surveyed -- important the posts which he held; And the Lords of the Iron Horse were dumb when he opened his mouth.
Black as the raven his garb, and his heresies jettier still -- Hinting that Railways required lifetimes of study and knowledge -- Never clanked sword by his side -- Vauban he knew not nor drill -- Nor was his name on the list of the men who had passed through the "College.
" Wherefore the Little Tin Gods harried their little tin souls, Seeing he came not from Chatham, jingled no spurs at his heels, Knowing that, nevertheless, was he first on the Government rolls For the billet of "Railway Instructor to Little Tin Gods on Wheels.
" Letters not seldom they wrote him, "having the honour to state," It would be better for all men if he were laid on the shelf.
Much would accrue to his bank-book, an he consented to wait Until the Little Tin Gods built him a berth for himself, "Special, well paid, and exempt from the Law of the Fifty and Five, Even to Ninety and Nine" -- these were the terms of the pact: Thus did the Little Tin Gods (lon may Their Highnesses thrive!) Silence his mouth with rupees, keeping their Circle intact; Appointing a Colonel from Chatham who managed the Bhamo State Line (The wich was on mile and one furlong -- a guaranteed twenty-inch gauge), So Exeter Battleby Tring consented his claims to resign, And died, on four thousand a month, in the ninetieth year of his age!
Written by Du Fu | Create an image from this poem

Two Verses on the Yellow River

Yellow river north bank sea west army
Hammer drum sound bell heaven under hear
Iron horse great cry not know number
Hu people tall nosed move great numbers
Yellow river west bank be my Shu
Wish must supply home without millet
Wish expel common people respect king
Equal one chariot book abandon gold jade

On the north bank of the Yellow River, west of the sea, is an army,
Hammered drums and sounded bells are heard beneath the sky.
The armoured horses cry out loud, I cannot tell their number,
The high-nosed tribe of Hu are moving in great numbers.

On the western bank of the Yellow River lies my own Sichuan,
I yearn to do my duty and provide for my home, without millet.
I wish I could expel the horde in honour of my king,
And for one book or chariot I'd abandon gold and jade.

Book: Shattered Sighs