I said to myself almost in prayer, It will start hair-raising currents of air
When you give it the livid metal-sap. It will make a homicidal roar. It will shake its cast stone reef of floor. It will gather speed till your nerves prepare
To hear it wreck in a thunderclap. But stand your ground, As they say in war. It is cotter-pinned, it is bedded true. Everything its parts can do
Has been thought out and accounted for. Your least touch sets it going round, And when to stop it rests with you.