THE JUNCTION
HERE, at the change of ways, the steel steed halts,
The train stands still, and weary travellers gaze
On what appears to be a wilderness
Of barren rocks, grim, desolate, and stern.
"What place is this," they ask, "so bleak and bald?
Here surely are the bones of Earth laid bare;
The gaunt frame of this time-worn world!" Such words,
Contempt infused, are heard from jeering lips,
But the drear wayside maketh no reply.
Yet look! the train moves on; the funnel snorts,
And rocks fling echoes on the trembling air;
From the new point of sight the scoffer sees
Deep pools of water bosomed in the waste—
Calm ponds reflecting Heaven's own lovely blue,
With gray rocks, verdure-touched, around their brinks.