Never the time and the train

And the station all together!

My watch—set "fast" in vain!

Slow cab—and foggy weather!

I have missed the express again.

It was all the porter's fault, not mine,

But his mind is narrow, his brain is bleak,

His slowness and red tape combine

To make him take about a week

To label my bag—and he dared to speak,

When I bade him hurry, bad words, in fine!

O epithet all incarnadine,

Leave, leave the lips of the working-man!

It is simply past

All bounds—aghast

My indignation scarce hold I can.

My watch may have helped to thus mislead,

My cab by the fog have been stayed indeed;

But still, however these things may be,

Out there on the platform wrangle we—

Oh, hot and strong slang I and he,

—I and he!