The Last Travellers.
The crowds are departing, one by one
The travellers loavé us, brushed by the steam
Of a train as they go. They grimly clutch
Their bags and at the last gate
Give no glance backo We're left alone
And shall go together a little time
On the slowest tracks of all that stretch
Boyond thoso pleasant hills; late
The time of atrivale The sun's been down
A long time nowe The trains are the samé
As before; end to end their coaches touch
Each other like shadows, Éeem to state
Their destinations. Hidden loudspeakors have done
Their work; the grimy stokers are now at home.
We're the last and stand together; fetch
Our collapsible ohafrs. We'll talk whilo we wait.