Travel
by Edna St. Vincent Millay
The railroad track is miles
away,
And the day is loud with voices speaking,
Yet there isn't a train goes by
all day
But I hear its whistle shrieking.
All night there isn't a train
goes by,
Though the night is still for sleep and
dreaming,
But I see its cinders red on
the sky,
And hear its engine steaming.
My heart is warm with friends I
make,
And better friends I'll not be knowing;
Yet there isn't a train I
wouldn't take,
No matter where it's going.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRHASMIY_BRAkQQz9d4EQyQB1p7cwGsu2LAxwUjbdo3PF3iSXOcaXzULW3lYSr32zXAWwo2LlgrDCxH-HSm7HvJtBQ9syhg872zZMZcRY6iowmxJtvEEc3jQzWSP0gAO3U4pOiPokDuYk/s1600/Edna+St.+Vincent+Millay.jpg)
"Travel" takes the form of a traditional ballad. If the first person speaker is assumed to be the poet, the poem reveals her to be a misanthrope--one who prefers to get away and leave her "friends" behind."
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