Nostalgia
" Through pleasures and palaces " —
Through hotels, and Pullman cars, and steamships . . .
Pink and white camellias
floating in a crystal bowl,
The sharp smell of firewood,
The scrape and rustle of a dog stretching himself
on a hardwood floor,
And your voice, reading — reading — to the slow ticking of an old brass clock . . .
" Tickets, please! "
And I watch the man in front of me
Fumbling in fourteen pockets,
While the conductor balances his ticket-punch
Between his fingers.
Through hotels, and Pullman cars, and steamships . . .
Pink and white camellias
floating in a crystal bowl,
The sharp smell of firewood,
The scrape and rustle of a dog stretching himself
on a hardwood floor,
And your voice, reading — reading — to the slow ticking of an old brass clock . . .
" Tickets, please! "
And I watch the man in front of me
Fumbling in fourteen pockets,
While the conductor balances his ticket-punch
Between his fingers.
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