 | The collected works of Ambrose Bierce |  |
THE DIVISION SUPERINTENDENT
Baffled he stands upon the track—
The automatic switches clack.
The automatic switches clack.
Where'er he turns his solemn eyes
The interlocking signals rise.
The interlocking signals rise.
The trains, before his visage pale,
Glide smoothly by, nor leave the rail.
Glide smoothly by, nor leave the rail.
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No splinter-spitted victim he
Hears uttering the note high C.
Hears uttering the note high C.
In sorrow deep he hangs his head,
A-weary—would that he were dead.
A-weary—would that he were dead.
Now suddenly his spirits rise—
A great thought kindles in his eyes.
A great thought kindles in his eyes.
Hope like a headlight's vivid glare,
Splendors the path of his despair.
Splendors the path of his despair.
His genius shines, the clouds roll back—
“I'll place obstructions on the track!”
“I'll place obstructions on the track!”
| The collected works of Ambrose Bierce | |