Railway Poems 

Railway Poems

THE TOURIST'S ALPHABET

(Railway Edition)

A is the affable guard whom you square :

B is the Bradshaw which leads you to swear :

C is the corner you fight to obtain :

D is the draught of which others complain :

E are the enemies made for the day :

F is the frown that you wear all the way :

G is the guilt that you feel going third :

H is the humbug by which you 're deterred :

I is the insult you'll get down the line :

J is the junction where you '11 try to dine :

K is the kettle of tea three weeks old :

L are the lemon drops better unsold :

M is the maiden who says there's no meat :

N is the nothing you thus get to eat :

O is the oath that you use and do right :

P is the paper to which you don't write :

Q are the qualms to directors unknown :

R is the row which you '11 find all your own :

S is the smash that is " nobody's fault :"

T is the truth, that will come to a halt :

U is the pointsman who 's up the whole night :

V is the verdict that says it 's " all right."

W stands for wheels flying off curves :

X for express that half shatters your nerves :

Y for the yoke from your neck that you fling,

and Z for your zest as you cut the whole thing !

( This poem and many others are displayed at Vadodara railway museum as a part of "Railway and Popular culture Gallery " 

ON THE PROJECTED KENDAL AND WINDERMERE RAILWAY 

 
Is then no nook of English ground secure 
From rash assault? Schemes of retirement sown 
In youth, and 'mid the busy world kept pure 
As when their earliest flowers of hope were blown, 
Must perish;--how can they this blight endure? 
And must he too the ruthless change bemoan 
Who scorns a false utilitarian lure 
'Mid his paternal fields at random thrown? 
Baffle the threat, bright Scene, from Orresthead 
Given to the pausing traveller's rapturous glance: 
Plead for thy peace, thou beautiful romance 
Of nature; and, if human hearts be dead, 
Speak, passing winds; ye torrents, with your strong 
And constant voice, protest against the wrong. 
                                                  October 12, 1844. 

This sonnet appeared 16 October 1844 in the Morning Post. Wordsworth, who had been named poet laureate the previous year, was protesting the construction of a railway line from Kendal to Windermere. With the line, it was argued that large numbers of factory workers would be able to take day trips to the Lake District, thus escaping urban blight. To Wordsworth, in his beloved country home, it meant rural blight.