Open main menu



How strange and feverish the haste appears,
With which our modern living flies.
Gaze back adown the row of bygone years
And you begin to feel a longing rise.

As if you rode a train that could not stop
Or knew not whither it was rushing thee.
As regions pass thee by, perchance you'd stop,
But then a stop impossible would be.

A few friends now ride in the car with you,
A few fleet girlish glances you behold,
They leave as others then in turn will do.

At length thou'rt weary,—all a sameness takes,
You feel the heart is quickly growing old
And fills with longing when remembrance wakes.