Passage

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply,
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.
Thus in winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone,
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.

I am riding on a limited express.
One of the crack trains of the nation.
Hurtling across the prairie
Into the blue haze and dark air
Go fifteen all-steel coaches
Holding a thousand people.
One of the crack trains of the nation.
(All the coaches, all shall be scrap and rust
And all the men and women laughing
In the diners and sleepers, all shall pass to ashes.)
I ask a man in the smoker where he is going
And he answers "Omaha."