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The New Zealand Railways Magazine, Volume 13, Issue 8 (November 1, 1938)

Brompton—Piccadilly

Brompton—Piccadilly.

Is life the cure for life? Then come with me
By way of this bright cage where you may see
No more the stars' reproaches, but will gaze
For one brief minute in a wild amaze
On life. The walls' alluring polychrome Speaks not of Carthage, Babylon or Rome,
But London, living London. You may read
Among your fellows of their varying need,
Of human cunning in that pool of faces.
The gateway clangs. Like sheep along the races
The little flock is shepherded. The moan
Of distant trains, the breath of warm ozone
Fills all your being with its strange caress.
The white tiles gleam, and all is loveliness.
At one quick moment; then the terror falls,
And we are trapped within life's lurid walls.

* * *