And, as in the rival railroad’s palace, crowds arrive from any of the building’s four corners, passing through a low-ceilinged perimeter, into a soaring hall. Here, too, lovers have the option of meeting beneath an oversize dial clock, this one an echo of an Art Deco skyscraper’s crown, designed by Peter Pennoyer. Instead of painted constellations, Moynihan displays a view of the actual celestial dome. The interior boasts acres of expensive stone, much of it quarried from the same swath of Tennessee that furnished the other terminal, along with countless civic buildings. Mostly, though, there’s a lot of Grand Central envy going on. This lissome modern version of the classic steel-and-glass train sheds of Europe has plenty of recent peers: Frank Gehry’s fishlike vault over the DZ Bank in Berlin, an assortment of Norman Foster’s transparent domes (chiefly the Great Court of the British Museum and the Reichstag in Berlin), and, closer to home, that other commuter station: Calatrava’s World Trade Center Transit Hub. All is daylight, air, and space, in a room nearly the size of the main concourse at Grand Central Terminal. SOM has focused all the drama and expectation on that steel-and-glass latticework. Instead, the great trusses spanning that enormous cavity have been stripped to naked steel and repurposed to support a set of parabolic skylights. The floor of the mail-sorting hall is gone, and so are the surveillance chambers suspended overhead, where security men kept watch to make sure no checks or packages disappeared. Now, the architecture firm Skidmore, Owings & Merrill has done the same by disemboweling the Farley building and turning its core into a skylit court. (It’s also well-timed, since Amtrak’s customer-in-chief will shortly chug into the White House, a marketing boost any company would die for.) A century ago, Beaux Arts architects ennobled all sorts of prosaic activities, like collecting taxes, borrowing books, sending postcards, and, yes, commuting. The aspiration to lift spirits as well as move bodies matches McKim, Mead & White’s 1914 granite temple, with its Corinthian columns and imperial stairs. And yet this long-delayed mash-up of spectacle and missed opportunity doesn’t make the heart go clickety-clack. More ambitiously, the new room aims to evoke, maybe even revive, the romance of travel by rail. On that score, the $1.6 billion building succeeds. Its primary purpose is to improve upon the experience of leaving or entering Manhattan through Penn Station, a bar so low it’s buried in the basement. Moynihan Train Hall is real, all right, though it’s not actually a station - more of a grand waiting room for Amtrak and the Long Island Railroad dropped into the center of the doughnutlike Farley Post Office Building. Squint at one of the dozens of digital screens where departure times appear with icy clarity, and you half expect a boarding call for the Polar Express rather than, say, Ronkonkoma. Look up and you’re staring at daylight, which wavers and bends on its way through the ceiling’s glass vaults. We’ve been talking about Moynihan Station for so long - 27 years, to be exact - that setting foot on the new train hall’s freshly laid Tennessee marble floors seems like one more hallucinatory experience at the end of an implausible year.