"Station's closed for to-night.

The station's just back of the Louvre.

In calling out a station's name He is undoubtedly to blame For failing, as a rule, to aim At clear enunciation; But, since the War, he hasn't struck Or downed his toolsI mean his truck And plays the game with patient pluck Like a sturdy Briton.

The fields seem spinning round, the trees seem flying past, The engine thunders on, the station's reached at last.