Out Of The Window By Aldous Leonard Huxley

    In the middle of countries, far from hills and sea,
    Are the little places one passes by in trains
    And never stops at; where the skies extend
    Uninterrupted, and the level plains
    Stretch green and yellow and green without an end.
    And behind the glass of their Grand Express
    Folk yawn away a province through,
    With nothing to think of, nothing to do,
    Nothing even to look at–never a “view”
    In this damned wilderness.
    But I look out of the window and find
    Much to satisfy the mind.
    Mark how the furrows, formed and wheeled
    In a motion orderly and staid,
    Sweep, as we pass, across the field
    Like a drilled army on parade.
    And here’s a market-garden, barred
    With stripe on stripe of varied greens …
    Bright potatoes, flower starred,
    And the opacous colour of beans.
    Each line deliberately swings
    Towards me, till I see a straight
    Green avenue to the heart of things,
    The glimpse of a sudden opened gate
    Piercing the adverse walls of fate …
    A moment only, and then, fast, fast,
    The gate swings to, the avenue closes;
    Fate laughs, and once more interposes
    Its barriers.
             The train has passed.