Poems (Mary Coleridge)/Poem 100

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C THE TRAIN
A green eye—and a red—in the dark.Thunder—smoke—and a spark.
It is there—it is here—flashed by.Whither will the wild thing fly?
It is rushing, tearing thro' the night,Rending her gloom in its flight.
It shatters her silence with shrieks.What is it the wild thing seeks?
Alas! for it hurries awayThem that are fain to stay.
Hurrah! for it carries homeLovers and friends that roam.
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Where are you, Time and Space?The world is a little place,
Your reign is over and done,You are one.

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