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 | Drifted in |  |
Once more—the drifts that had bade us stay
Being swept from the track, we made shift to go,
But still, as we trundled along the way,
It seemed that the pace was waxing slow.
When once again by a silence deep
Roused from the delicious death called sleep,
There peeped through windows the morning gray:
Our world had been given another day.
But sounds of the engine's steam-whirled mill
Came not to my couch; the wheels below
That had shaken car and track, were still,
And nought except footsteps to and fro
The lengths of the curtained aisle, was heard,
With now and then an impatient word,
Less welcome than e'en the loudest din—
Informing us we were “drifted in”!
Being swept from the track, we made shift to go,
But still, as we trundled along the way,
It seemed that the pace was waxing slow.
46
Roused from the delicious death called sleep,
There peeped through windows the morning gray:
Our world had been given another day.
But sounds of the engine's steam-whirled mill
Came not to my couch; the wheels below
That had shaken car and track, were still,
And nought except footsteps to and fro
The lengths of the curtained aisle, was heard,
With now and then an impatient word,
Less welcome than e'en the loudest din—
Informing us we were “drifted in”!
| Drifted in | |