Despair.
Borne in no road-car,
Endless the railway,
How shall poor I reach
Station at last?
Literally: “Riding in no vehicle (which is used for a short journey), the train whithersoever going (for an indefinite distance), by doing what shall this body of mine, Terminus?” That is: My love is not a short-lived fancy, but a lifelong passion, until I reach the terminus of death. Graceful, indeed, but scarcely gracious is a lady’s reply to an admirer who had sent her his photograph:
The Higher Photography.
Only your likeness!
Faithful? I know not.
Could I but take one,