AFTER A ROMANTIC DAY

The railway bore him through

An earthen cutting out from a city:

There was no scope for view,

Though the frail light shed by a slim young moon

Fell like a friendly tune.

Fell like a liquid ditty,

And the blank lack of any charm

Of landscape did no harm.

The bald steep cutting, rigid, rough,

And moon-lit, was enough

For poetry of place: its weathered face

Formed a convenient sheet whereon

The visions of his mind were drawn.