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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 the 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.
Edna St. Vincent Millay’s "Travel" is a deceptively simple yet deeply evocative poem that explores themes of wanderlust, existential longing, and the tension between contentment and escape. Written in the early 20th century, a period marked by rapid industrialization and shifting social norms, the poem captures a universal human impulse—the desire to leave, to move, to transcend the familiar. Millay, known for her lyrical precision and emotional intensity, crafts a work that resonates with both personal yearning and broader cultural currents. Through vivid sensory imagery, subtle paradoxes, and an understated yet powerful structure, "Travel" invites readers to contemplate the allure of the unknown and the paradox of being both rooted and restless.
To fully appreciate "Travel," one must consider Millay’s life and the era in which she wrote. Born in 1892, Millay came of age during a time of significant change—women were gaining more independence, the world was recovering from the upheaval of World War I, and the rise of railroads and automobiles made travel more accessible than ever before. Millay herself was no stranger to movement; she lived a bohemian lifestyle, traveling through Europe and embracing the freedoms of the modernist era. Her poetry often reflects a tension between domesticity and freedom, love and solitude—a duality that "Travel" encapsulates perfectly.
The railroad, a central symbol in the poem, was not merely a mode of transportation but a metaphor for progress, escape, and the inexorable passage of time. In the early 20th century, trains represented both connection and dislocation—they could take people away from home just as easily as they could bring them back. Millay’s poem taps into this cultural ambivalence, portraying the train as both a real and imagined presence, a siren call to the restless spirit.
Millay’s mastery of imagery is evident from the opening lines:
"The railroad track is miles away,
And the day is loud with voices speaking,"
The juxtaposition of distance ("miles away") and auditory immediacy ("loud with voices speaking") establishes a paradox—the speaker is physically removed from the railroad yet psychically attuned to it. This tension between presence and absence is reinforced by the train’s spectral quality; though it does not physically pass by, the speaker hears its whistle "shrieking," a word that conveys urgency and almost painful longing.
The second stanza shifts to nighttime, a time traditionally associated with rest, yet the speaker remains haunted by the idea of travel:
"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."
Here, Millay employs synesthesia—blending sight ("cinders red on the sky") and sound ("engine steaming")—to create a multisensory impression of the train’s passage. The "cinders red" evoke both the literal sparks of a steam engine and the burning desire within the speaker. The night, "still for sleep and dreaming," should be a time of peace, yet the speaker’s mind remains restless, unable to silence the call of movement.
At its core, "Travel" is a meditation on the human condition—specifically, the conflict between the comfort of the known and the thrill of the unknown. The speaker acknowledges the warmth of present relationships:
"My heart is warm with the friends I make,
And better friends I’ll not be knowing,"
These lines suggest a deep appreciation for current connections, even a recognition that no future companions will surpass them. Yet, this contentment does not extinguish the desire to leave:
"Yet there isn’t a train I wouldn’t take,
No matter where it’s going."
The final lines are striking in their absolute surrender to wanderlust. The destination is irrelevant; the act of departure itself is the imperative. This sentiment echoes the Romantic tradition of valuing experience over stability, as seen in poets like Wordsworth and Whitman, yet Millay’s tone is more urgent, more modern in its existential yearning.
The poem’s existential dimension invites comparison to philosophers such as Søren Kierkegaard, who wrote of the "dizziness of freedom"—the anxiety and exhilaration that come with infinite possibility. The speaker in "Travel" is not running from something but toward something undefined, embracing the unknown as an intrinsic good.
Psychologically, the poem speaks to the concept of "fernweh," a German term meaning a longing for distant places, a counterpart to "heimweh" (homesickness). The speaker is not dissatisfied with their current life, yet they are compelled by an almost primal urge to move. This duality reflects Millay’s own life—a woman who cherished deep personal relationships but also fiercely guarded her independence.
"Travel" can be fruitfully compared to other wanderlust poems, such as Robert Frost’s "The Road Not Taken" or Walt Whitman’s "The Open Road." However, while Frost’s speaker deliberates over choices and Whitman’s persona embraces the road as a democratic ideal, Millay’s speaker is more impulsive, more emotionally charged. There is no weighing of options—only an inexorable pull toward departure.
Another illuminating comparison is with Millay’s own "Recuerdo," which depicts a night of spontaneous adventure with a loved one. Both poems celebrate movement, but "Travel" is more solitary, more introspective, underscoring the idea that some journeys are deeply personal, even when surrounded by others.
What makes "Travel" so enduring is its emotional authenticity. Nearly everyone has felt the tug of wanderlust—whether literal or metaphorical—the sense that something beyond the horizon calls to them. Millay captures this feeling without romanticizing it; the train’s whistle "shrieking" is not a gentle invitation but a piercing demand. The poem’s power lies in its recognition that one can be both happy and restless, grateful for what one has yet unable to silence the voice that whispers, "Go."
Edna St. Vincent Millay’s "Travel" is a masterful exploration of the human spirit’s irrepressible desire for movement. Through rich imagery, paradox, and emotional precision, the poem transcends its early 20th-century context to speak to timeless questions of belonging, freedom, and the allure of the unknown. It is a poem that acknowledges the warmth of home while hearing, always, the distant train—reminding us that the heart can hold both love and longing, that one can cherish the present while still yearning to depart. In this way, "Travel" is not just a poem about trains; it is a poem about the eternal journey of the soul.
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