As you go in and out upon the train,

You’re always reading poetry?

... Yes.

At first it slightly did embarrass me

To have the people stare,

Like you, over my shoulder,

Catching, as it were, a sudden flashing thigh,

Or gleam of sunlight on a truth laid bare,

Then sizing me up from the tail of the eye.

I used to shield the books, and myself, too,

But now I have grown bolder—I don’t care ...

They say this morning train from Lake Forest to Chicago

Carries more money, more living money

Than any train of its length and size in the world.

There’s the Club car, for Bridge, and then the Smoker,

And four or five other coaches.

It makes one feel rich merely to ride upon it ...

No, it’s not Keats or Shelley—yes, well enough,

But these are living.

I like them young and strenuous,

And when I find one that has done with lies,

I send a word ...