“I CROSSED THE ORCHARD WALKING HOME”

I crossed the orchard, walking home,

The rising moon was at my back,

The apples and the moonlight fell

Together on the railroad track.

Then, speeding through the evening dews,

A dozen lighted windows glide —

The East-bound flyer for New York,

Soft as a magic-lantern slide.

New York! on through the sleeping flowers,

Through echoing midnight on to noon;

How strange that yonder is New York,

And here such silence and the moon.