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The Spike: or, Victoria University College Review, June 1924

The Song Of Speed

The Song Of Speed

The engine stutters its fiery song,
As the things of earth flash by;
The race to the swift and the strong, and the strong,
The turn to the sure of eye.
And death is near, but who would care?
For this is the death to die.

And it's oh! for the rush of the blinding track,
And the whirl of the leaping wheel,
The slither of foam bright overside,
The cry of the hounds at heel.

The call of the road is a call of old
When the song of the wind is still,
And the sunset reddens to gold, to gold
When the poplar halts on the hill;
But hill and road we hold them best
As a test of the driver's skill.

And it's oh! for the gleam of the metal ways,
And the thunder of glowing train,
The quiver of deck to the racing screw,
The roar of the reeling plane.

The ring of hoofs on the morning air,
The frost-hard crunch to the ride,
Are good to hear as the distance fades,
Eaten up by the big roan's stride;
But the ways are best when the ways are fair
And the throttle's open wide.

And it's oh! for the thresh of the leeward race,
The stretch of the bulging sail,
The curtain of dust on the level road,
The whine of the speed-made gale.

The engine stutters its fiery song,
As the things of earth flash by;
The race to the swift and the strong, and the strong,
The turn to the sure of eye.
And death is near, but who would care?
For this is the death to die.

—C.Q.P.