The Railway Station
The darkness brings no quiet here, the light No waking: ever on my blinded brain The flare of lights, the rush, and cry, and strain, The engines' scream, the hiss and thunder smite: I see the hurrying crowds, the clasp, the flight, Faces that touch, eyes that are dim with pain: I see the hoarse wheels turn, and the great train Move labouring out into the bourneless night. So many souls within its dim recesses, So many bright, so many mournful eyes: Mine eyes that watch grow fixed with dreams and guesses; What threads of life, what hidden histories, What sweet or passionate dreams and dark distresses, What unknown thoughts, what various agonies!
Composition date is unknown - the above date represents the first publication date.
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Archibald Lampman
Other author posts
A Prayer
Oh earth, oh dewy mother, breathe on Something of all thy beauty and thy might, Us that are part of day, but most of night, Not strong like thee, but ever burdened
Sunset
From this windy bridge at rest, In some former curious hour, We have watched the city's hue, All along the orange west,
Winter-Store
Subtly conscious, all awake, Let us clear our eyes, and Through the cloudy chrysalis, See the wonder as it is
Heat
From plains that reel to southward, dim, The road runs by me white and bare; Up the steep hill it seems to Beyond, and melt into the glare
