Earth has not anything to show less fair:
Patient were he of soul who could pass by
A twenty minutes' wait amidst the cry
Of churlish clowns who worn cord jackets wear,
Without one single, solitary swear.
The low, unmeaning grunt, the needless lie,
The prompt "next platform" (which is all my eye),
The choky waiting-room, the smoky air;
Refreshment-bars where nothing nice they keep,
Whose sandwich chokes, whose whiskey makes one ill;