Night Mail poem

The train is crossing the border overnight with mail, bringing letters and checks and orders for rich and poor. Though the way is steep, she is still on time. She passes moors and boulders, her white steam flowing behind her. She noisily passes through the “silent miles” of grassland. Birds peer at her, and sheepdogs cannot make her alter her course. Passing one farm, the dwellers sleep on, but a jug “gently shakes.”