This was what the pointsman said,
With both hands at his throbbing head:—
'I drew the wrong lever standing here
And the danger signals stood at clear;
'But before I could draw it back again
On came the fast express, and then—
'There came a roar and a crash that shook
This cabin-floor, but I could not look
'At the wreck, for I knew the dead would peer
With strange dull eyes at their murderer here.'
'Drew the wrong lever?' 'Yes, I say!
Go, tell my wife, and—take me away!'
That was what the pointsman said,
With both hands at his throbbing head.
O ye of this nineteenth century time,
Who hold low dividends as a crime,
Listen. So long as a twelve-hours' strain
Rests like a load of lead on the brain,
With its ringing of bells and rolling of wheels,
Drawing of levers until one feels
The hands grow numb with a nerveless touch,
And the handles shake and slip in the clutch,
So long will ye have pointsmen to say—
'Drew the wrong lever! take me away!'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem