Classic Poem

Brooding upon its unexerted power,
Deep in the gas-tank lay the gasoline
Awaiting the inevitable hour
When from the inward soul of the machine
Would come the Call. Ah, hark! Man's touch awakes
Th' ignition switch! The starting-motor hums;
A sound of meshing gears, releasing brakes!
The call of Duty to the gas-tank comes!

" Vacuum pulls me; and I come! I come! "
The Gas cried, down the hidden arteries going;
It plashed within the tank of vacuum,
From th' upper chamber to the lower flowing,
And past the Flapper Valve, which cried, " Ah, stay!
Stay with the Flapper Valve, the noted petter! "
Heedless, the Gas went grimly on its way
To fiery nuptials with the carbureter!

Throttled and choked by furious Choke and Throttle,
By Butterfly valves a-flutter, pet cocks clucking,
Came Gasoline, with gurgling epiglottal
To the float-chamber, D, the thirsty-sucking;
And to the mixing-chamber came in spray
Where evermore the gusty air is blowing
And jets of gasoline forever play —
Of course, provided that the motor's going.

This is the secret bridal chamber where
The earth-born gas first comes to kiss its bride,
The heaven-born and yet inviolate air
Which is, on this year's models, purified.
The air, then, enters at the air valve, E,
The gas is sucked through nozzles from below
(The extra nozzle, J; the normal, C).
What happens then the picture does not show.

And it is well; for wrapped in close embrace,
Maddened, they hasten from the bridal room
To that steel-jacketed combustion space
Where passion bursts against the walls of Doom. . . .
Now frenzy's dead; young frenzy's strength is lost;
And the exhaust-port gapes for passion's shard;
The ghost of gas wails down the dark exhaust,
Outworn, burnt out, exhausted — like the bard.