On Southern lines the trains which crawl

Deliberately to and fro

Make life a burden; of them all

This is the slowest of the slow.

Impatiently condemned to bear

What is indeed an awful bore,

I've seemed to be imprisoned there

Three days, or more.

The angry passengers complain;

Of new electric cabs they talk.

They sit and swear at such a train,

And ask, "Shall we get out and walk?"

It's true the time seems extra long

When spent in such a wretched way,

My calculation may be wrong—

Three hours, say.

The other day I had to come

By this slow train, but facing me

Was no old buffer, dull and dumb;

I chatted with my vis-À-vis.

A pretty smile, a pretty dress,

Gay spirits no fatigue could crush;

With her it was a quick express,

Three minutes' rush.

For once I sadly left the train,

For once the time too quickly passed.

I still could angrily complain,

Why travel so absurdly fast?

At lightning speed that special went

(I'd paid the ordinary fare),

Now looking back it seems we spent

Three seconds there.