The Limited.

The long train shuffles outward, deeply sighing.
The slim rails slip together—slide apart.
The lights fade backward, wingless we go flying
In rocking, reeling flight. No god-like dart,
No upward swing or swerve; the lashless stars
Lesser than lamps are, and the blustering dark
Less strange than our strange eyes and lips that are
Shouting in glance and tone against the stark,
Wide mouth of Noise. Vanity's crowned us all.
Pale, resolute, dark mantled kings in flight,
With superb sorrow mourning a throne's fall—
Racing on chanting steel throughout the night!

—Eve Langley, Wanganui.