ON A TRAIN
(For Christine and Tom)
Oases are charming 'mid the Afric sands, Beautiful is summer after rain;But the sweetest blossoms may be eyes and hands, And two playful children on a train.
Aileen and her brother, home from holiday, Left behind them Narragansett town;Innocence like music followed all the way, Summer glowed upon the cheeks of brown.
She that was their escort read a magazine:
They were young, and trains are dull at night;All the passing signals, red and blue and green, Counted up the miles for young delight.
I was there behind them, earnest in a book:
Lo, the journey turned to fairyland, When, like magic mirrors, dusty windows took Aileen's dancing eyes and waving hand!
That is how it happened on a creeping train, How a play began without a word,--Peekaboo reflections in a window-pane, Such a story-hour was never heard.
Aileen and her brother, strangers were to me;They were friendly for the cloth I wore;
And through leagues of window, youthful play could see We were friends to be for evermore.
So we passed the hamlets, passed the miles of night In a fairyland of silent games, Till the travel ended in the Worcester light,--Yet we parted, strangers in our names.
