cf. Charles O’Rear, “Passengers of the Southwest Limited strolling beside the Amtrak train…” (1974)
When now the boy, whose childish thoughts aspire
To loftier aims, and make him ramble high’r,Grown wild, and wanton, more embolden’d flies
Far from his guide, and soars among the skies…
—Ovid, Metamorphoses
If I didn’t try, how would I know? how would I know?
John Collier, “Young man boarding train for New York state…” (1942)
Lovers, forget your love,
And list to the love of these,
She a window flower,
And he a winter breeze.When the frosty window veil
Was melted down at noon,
And the cagèd yellow bird
Hung over her in tune,He marked her through the pane,
He could not help but mark,
And only passed her by,
To come again at dark.He was a winter wind,
Concerned with ice and snow,
Dead weeds and unmated birds,
And little of love could know.But he sighed upon the sill,
He gave the sash a shake,
As witness all within
Who lay that night awake.Perchance he half prevailed
To win her for the flight
From the firelit looking-glass
And warm stove-window light.But the flower leaned aside
And thought of naught to say,
And morning found the breeze
A hundred miles away.
—Robert Frost, Wind and Window Flower
cf. Lottie, “Train view” (2012)
Reading “Ivy Day In The Committee Room” On The Train, November, 1980
his face lapsed into darkness but, as he set himself to fan the fire again, his crouching shadow ascended the opposite wall and his face slowly reemerged into light. It was
a gray day with an almost constant and heavy rain beating down against the train window.
“What are you doing in the dark?” asked a voice.
The cabin lights were off. I stared at the distant red signal light in the mist and felt a chill. I fumbled for my book.
A denuded room came into view and the fire lost all its cheerful colour. The walls of the room were bare except for a
smoking compartment sign. I was alone. A voice asked for my ticket.
“Is that you, Hynes?” asked Mr. O’Connor.
“Yes. What are you doing in the dark?” said Mr. Hynes. advancing into the light of the fire.The train pulled out of the station and I thought about what you said.
“Tell me,” he said across the fire, “what brings our friend in here? What does he want?”
I guess I just wanted to see you one last time.
“What age are you?” he asked.
“Seventeen,” said the boy.As the train slowed into the station I looked for you. A man was getting into his car and heading home.
“Tell me, John,” said Mr. O’Connor, lighting his cigarette with another pasteboard card.
“Hm? ”
“What he is exactly?”
“Ask me an easier one,” said Mr. Henchy.
–J.S.
Geo. R. Lawrence Co., “A tourist sleeper musical” (ca. 1905)
Benjamin Balázs, Together / Együtt
O, never say that I was false of heart,
Though absence seem’d my flame to qualify.
As easy might I from myself depart,
As from my soul, which in thy breast doth lie:
That is my home of love; if I have ranged,
Like him that travels I return again,
Just to the time, not with the time exchanged,
So that myself bring water for my stain.
Never believe, though in my nature reign’d
All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood,
That it could so prepost’rously be stain’d,
To leave for nothing all thy sum of good;
For nothing this wide Universe I call,
Save thou, my Rose; in it thou art my all.
—Sonnet CIX
All the days became so long
Did you really think I’d do you wrong?
Dixie, when I let you go
Thought you’d realize that I would know,
I would show the special love I have for you, my baby blue…
cf. Coronet, “Marriage Is a Partnership” (1951)
“To dreams that never will come true…”
John Sapiro 