This was what the pointsman said,
With both hands at his throbbing head:--
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Why, hang it all, let life go by,
It is but bubbles we pursue;
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I like to see in graceful row
My modest pipes upon the wall,
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What fretting loads we mortals bear
Through life, whose fading rainbows mock
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She sits upon her nest all day,
Secure amid the toiling din
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A roofless Border keep that once
Held reiver bold its walls within,
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I never see a castle
That is gaunt and grey and grim,
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The dead man in the chamber dim
Lay, with the silence over him.
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Here in the city as I sit,
The twilight filling all the room,
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I stood upon the four-foot way
Amid the haunts I knew so well,
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Upon the rails I work away,
The rails sae slim an' narrow,
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\"Forget the snorting steam and piston stroke,
Forget the spreading of the hideous town."\
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I push the little gate aside,
I leave behind all human pride,
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I heard this old legend a few days ago--
A legend so quaint
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"\O meines Lebens goldne zeit.\"--
Schiller
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As soft as an autumn leaf will light
When the winds are hush'd and still,
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I sit upon a shattered shaft, as if Time, worn and blind,
Had smote himself in sudden rage and left one limb behind.
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The sunlight fell through the shadowy trees
In smiles all soft and sweet,
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This is a perfect day to lie
Without one single thought but eye
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I see yet, bright as summer beams,
The spot where all my childhood wander'd,
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A singer in the street to-day,
He sings a song; and as I hear
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"Ambos oder Hammer sein."
--\Goethe\
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*Respectfully Dedicated To My Fellow-Workers With Pick And Shovel Everywhere*
"\Let each man honour his workmanship--his Can-do.\"--
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Come away from pick and shovel for another day again,
Glide along the veins of iron leading to the city's heart,
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A sound is in my ear to-day,
And playful fancies with it throng;
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A spirit is singing a song somewhere,
As I go out to my work--
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I took her down a country dance,
And ever in its giddy wheeling
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The merry children are playing
In the little village street;
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A voice from dreamland said to me--
"Poet, what music is in thee?
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A voice is in the wind to-day,
And sweet its breath is blowing;
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