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Title: Thoughts At A Railway Station
Author: Charles Stuart Calverley [
More Titles by Calverley]
'Tis but a box, of modest deal;
Directed to no matter where:
Yet down my cheek the teardrops steal -
Yes, I am blubbering like a seal;
For on it is this mute appeal,
"With care."
I am a stern cold man, and range
Apart: but those vague words "With care"
Wake yearnings in me sweet as strange:
Drawn from my moral Moated Grange,
I feel I rather like the change
Of air.
Hast thou ne'er seen rough pointsmen spy
Some simple English phrase--"With care"
Or "This side uppermost"--and cry
Like children? No? No more have I.
Yet deem not him whose eyes are dry
A bear.
But ah! what treasure hides beneath
That lid so much the worse for wear?
A ring perhaps--a rosy wreath -
A photograph by Vernon Heath -
Some matron's temporary teeth
Or hair!
Perhaps some seaman, in Peru
Or Ind, hath stow'd herein a rare
Cargo of birds' eggs for his Sue;
With many a vow that he'll be true,
And many a hint that she is too,
Too fair.
Perhaps--but wherefore vainly pry
Into the page that's folded there?
I shall be better by and by:
The porters, as I sit and sigh,
Pass and repass--I wonder why
They stare!
[The end]
Charles Stuart Calverley's poem: Thoughts At A Railway Station
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