Henry David Thoreau, 1817 – 1862
What’s the railroad to me?
I never go to see
Where it ends.
It fills a few hollows,
And makes banks for the swallows,
It sets the sand a-blowing,
And the blackberries a-growing.
This image, from shorpy, shows the Penmar train station at the start of the 20th century. The Appalachian trail runs through there now, and it’s well-covered in forest. Somehow I think Thoreau would approve of the change.