  SWIFT as a meteor and as quickly gone A train of cars darts swiftly through the night; Scorning the wood and field it hurries on, A thing of wrathful might. There, from a farmer’s home a woman’s eyes, Roused by the sudden jar and passing flare, Follow the speeding phantom till it dies,— An echo on the air. Narrow the life that always has been hers The evening brings a longing to her breast; Deep in her heart some aspiration stirs And mocks her soul’s unrest. Her tasks are mean and endless as the days, And sometimes love cannot repay all things; An instrument that rudely touched obeys Becomes discordant strings. The train that followed in the headlight’s glare, Bound for the city and a larger world, Made emphasis of her poor life of care As from her sight it whirled. Thus from all lonely hearts the great earth rolls, Indifferent though one woman grieve and die, Along its iron track are many souls That watch the world go by. |
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