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C.D. Warner, et al., comp.  The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes.  1917.
 
Thoughts at a Railway Station
By Charles Stuart Calverley (1831–1884)
 
’TIS but a box, of modest deal;
  Directed to no matter where:
Yet down my cheek the teardrops steal—
Yes, I am blubbering like a seal;
For on it is this mute appeal,        5
        “With care.”
 
I am a stern cold man, and range
  Apart: but those vague words “With care”
Wake yearnings in me sweet as strange:
Drawn from my moral Moated Grange,        10
I feel I rather like the change
        Of air.
 
Hast thou ne’er seen rough pointsmen spy
  Some simple English phrase—“With care”
Or “This side uppermost”—and cry        15
Like children? No? No more have I.
Yet deem not him whose eyes are dry
        A bear.
 
But ah! what treasure hides beneath
  That lid so much the worse for wear?        20
A ring perhaps—a rosy wreath—
A photograph by Vernon Heath—
Some matron’s temporary teeth
        Or hair!
 
Perhaps some seaman, in Peru        25
  Or Ind, hath stowed herein a rare
Cargo of birds’-eggs for his Sue;
With many a vow that he’ll be true,
And many a hint that she is too—
        Too fair.        30
 
Perhaps—but wherefore vainly pry
  Into the page that’s folded there?
I shall be better by-and-by:
The porters, as I sit and sigh,
Pass and repass—I wonder why        35
        They stare!
 
 
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