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THE TICKET COLLECTOR
- THE people come, the people go,
- The ticket man stands there,
- The trains rush in and out below,
- And some one steps aside to know
- How much his extra fare?
- None stay to look at anything,
- But each alone intent,
- Passes with haste or measured swing,
- And thinking of a different thing,
- Walks up the dark ascent.
- O ticket man, the sky is bright
- With golden floods of sun—
- Not yours that wide, blue, radiant sight;
- Here business jostles out the light
- And night and day are one!
