⁠And, loud in the hush between,
A morsel of dry earth falling
⁠From the flanks of the scarred ravine.

And the solemn firmament marches,
⁠And the hosts of heaven rise
Framed through the iron arches—
⁠Banded and barred by the ties,

Till we feel the far track humming,
⁠And we see her headlight plain,
And we gather and wait her coming—
⁠The wonderful north-bound train.

(Few, forgotten and lonely,
⁠Where the white car-windows shine—
No, not combatants—only
⁠Details guarding the line.)

Quick, ere the gift escape us!
⁠Out of the darkness we reach
For a handful of week-old papers
⁠And a mouthful of human speech.