Emotion.
273
What eyesore thou, old Porte Cochere,
To every traveller seemest!
To me, howe'er, thou shelter gave;
With memories dear thou teemest!
The station's waiting-room with seats
Extending all around it,
'Whelms me with recollections fond,
Because unchanged I found it!
For 'twas on these rude benches there,
When winter's winds were hurtling,
And travellers few and far between,
All evening sat we flirting.
The Unreplaced Slats on Which the Author Communed
