I WAITED for the train unto Versailles. <br />I hung with bonnes and gamins on the bridge <br />Watching the gravelled road where, ridge with ridge, <br />Under black arches gleam the iron rails <br />Clear in the darkness, till the darkness fails <br />And they press on to light again—again <br />To reach the dark. I waited for the train <br />Unto Versailles; I leaned over the bridge, <br />And wondered, cold and drowsy, why the knave <br />Claude is in worship; and why (sense apart) <br />Rubens preferred a mustard vehicle. <br />The wind veered short. I turned upon my heel <br />Saying, “Correggio was a toad”; then gave <br />Three dizzy yawns, and knew not of the Art.<br /><br />Dante Gabriel Rossetti<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/at-the-station-of-the-versailles-railway/
