The drowsy carrier sways To the drowsy horses’ tramp. His axles winnow the sprays Of the hedge where the rabbit plays In the light of his single lamp. He hears a roar behind, A howl, a hoot, and a yell, A headlight strikes him blind And a stench o’erpowers the wind Like a blast from the mouth of Hell. He mends his swingle-bar, And loud his curses ring; But a mother watching afar Hears the hum of the doctor’s car Like the beat of an angel’s wing! So, to the poet’s mood, Motor or carrier’s van, Properly understood, Are neither evil nor good— Ormuzd not Ahriman!