On A Train

(For Christine and Tom)     Oases are charming 'mid the Afric sands,     Beautiful is summer after rain;     But the sweetest blossoms may be eyes and hands,     And two playful children on a train.     Aileen and her brother, home from holiday,     Left behind them Narragansett town;     Innocence like music followed all the way,     Summer glowed upon the cheeks of brown.     She that was their escort read a magazine:     They were young, and trains are dull at night;     All the passing signals, red and blue and green,     Counted up the miles for young delight.     I was there behind them, earnest in a book:     Lo, the journey turned to fairyland,     When, like magic mirrors, dusty windows took     Aileen's dancing eyes and waving hand!     That is how it happened on a creeping train,     How a play began without a word,--     Peekaboo reflections in a window-pane,     Such a story-hour was never heard.     Aileen and her brother, strangers were to me;     They were friendly for the cloth I wore;     And through leagues of window, youthful play could see     We were friends to be for evermore.     So we passed the hamlets, passed the miles of night     In a fairyland of silent games,     Till the travel ended in the Worcester light,--     Yet we parted, strangers in our names.