. "Blasts" from The Ram's Horn. HE IS LOSING HIS HOLD.• ? ? ? • THE FACE OUTSIDE OF THE By S. B. McMantjs. HEN day is gone—like a hero dead— And night as a widow in sable weeds,Has over her king a black pall spread,And the quivering train through the deep dark speeds,Counting cities and towns as a monk his beads—I glance through the window out into the night,Whose only gleam is the stokers light,And I see a face through the burnished pane,Ever speeding along with the hurrying train,—A face outside of the window No matter how fast the train may go — No matter how quickly a mile is sped
. "Blasts" from The Ram's Horn. HE IS LOSING HIS HOLD.• ? ? ? • THE FACE OUTSIDE OF THE By S. B. McMantjs. HEN day is gone—like a hero dead— And night as a widow in sable weeds,Has over her king a black pall spread,And the quivering train through the deep dark speeds,Counting cities and towns as a monk his beads—I glance through the window out into the night,Whose only gleam is the stokers light,And I see a face through the burnished pane,Ever speeding along with the hurrying train,—A face outside of the window No matter how fast the train may go — No matter how quickly a mile is sped,— The face outside which I seem to know Still hurries along as by magic sped, And I look and lo! it turns its head And looks at me with its phantom eyes, And I look and stare in sad surprise: Tho1 I knew all the time twas my shadow there, I could but gaze with a sorrowing stare At the face outside of the window. There are lines in that face—how came they there? Why furrowed! and when? one may scarcely knoT* They are traces perchance of sin and care— Or a sweet dead joy or a
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1900, booksubjectpoetry, bookyear1902
