THE SLOW TRAIN

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.