Classic Poem

My musing cell is small, but waterproof
As is the thickest rock in wall and roof,
And soft south lighted from the shiny sky
Of day, the while the sun steals slowly by,
Beside the twin of iron rails, worn bright
By wheels, from out of sight to out of sight.
While here for rest and thought I softly lean
Upon my couch of rushes, freshly clean,
Within my musing cell, both lew and warm,
I hear the humming of a coming storm.
From low to loud, from loud it sinks and dies.
The tree limbs creak, it shakes my door and lock,
And saplings stagger back before the shock.
But in a while it sinks from hiss to sigh,
And trees are still below a bluey sky.

But hark! I hear from far a humming sound
Of some long railway train upon the ground,
From far to nigh, from nigh to farther on,
And ere I say 'tis here, I find it gone,
As smoothly o'er the ground it rushes by,
As glides the glede athwart the glowing sky,
With wavy clouds of steam, from thick to rare,
And quickly melting off in clearest air.
The parted wind leaps out on either side
In furious blast, outrushing far and wide,
And strikes in all its might with ringing smack
Against my musing house's stony back.

In former times, before the railway train
Hurled crowds of wayfarers along the plain,
Far fewer then were heard the hourly sounds
That reach the ear amid these lonely grounds:
The lowing cow far off beyond the screen
Of some thick hedgerow all in flowery green,
Or horse, with high flung head and shaken mane,
That neigh'd to some dull draught horse in the lane.
To travellers who, sitting seat by seat,
All met together here, no more to meet,
Our place with others is no more a care
Than one cloud over others, in the air;
But we in child-hood's days of playful hours
Belonged to it, and henceforth it is ours.