Ballads of Peace in War

ON A TRAIN

    (For Christine and Tom)

    Oases are charming 'mid the Afric sands,
    Beautiful is summer after rain;
    But the sweetest blossoms may be eyes and hands,
    And two playful children on a train.

    Aileen and her brother, home from holiday,
    Left behind them Narragansett town;
    Innocence like music followed all the way,
    Summer glowed upon the cheeks of brown.

    She that was their escort read a magazine:
    They were young, and trains are dull at night;
    All the passing signals, red and blue and green,
    Counted up the miles for young delight.

    I was there behind them, earnest in a book:
    Lo, the journey turned to fairyland,
    When, like magic mirrors, dusty windows took
    Aileen's dancing eyes and waving hand!

    That is how it happened on a creeping train,
    How a play began without a word,—
    Peekaboo reflections in a window-pane,
    Such a story-hour was never heard.

    Aileen and her brother, strangers were to me;
    They were friendly for the cloth I wore;
    And through leagues of window, youthful play could see
    We were friends to be for evermore.

    So we passed the hamlets, passed the miles of night
    In a fairyland of silent games,
    Till the travel ended in the Worcester light,—
    Yet we parted, strangers in our names.

    But   a fortnight later, by an autumn tree,
    Aileen and her brother came my way,
    And another, glad to tell the names of them and me,
    And to hear how travellers can play.

    Life is but a journey, say we evermore,
    Passing lights the years have, like a train;
    Three good friends will travel up to heaven's door,
    With the world a merry window-pane.