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Porter, reading your paper,
I will impel you – bend my will upon you –
Beat on my carriage window –
Look round, I tell you! See her!
Shy schoolgirl fighting her tears –
What tragedy of childish loss
Darkens this upturned face
With lowering press of fears?
Beyond the power of conscious art
The wringing of these piteous hands –
The dilate pupils – and the strands
Stroked from the pale, damp brow.
Ah! You have seen her now.
So big with suffering – so small and young a thing
To meet experience. Your heart
Should leap to her service.
Porter! Speak to her, please!
I think she left her satchel in the train.
Hurry – unlock the stubborn door again.
Can I not make you budge?
Speak, man. Bear her no grudge.
One act of simple courtesy
and you restore her threatened entity.
Praise be – you speak!
I see the tension break
In the tortured face –
The slack release –
The swift inflow of peace.
She is pure child again
Clasping her treasure, happy and whole.
And you – thrice happy man –
Enjoy a triple pleasure,
Her peace, my comfort, and your errant soul
To safety snatched from a departing train.