In the third-class seat sat the journeying boy, br And the roof-lamp's oily flame br Played down on his listless form and face, br Bewrapt past knowing to what he was going, br Or whence he came. br br In the band of his hat the journeying boy br Had a ticket stuck; and a string br Around his neck bore the key of his box, br That twinkled gleams of the lamp's sad beams br Like a living thing.