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,