Welcome to Poetry.com

Poetry.com is a huge collection of poems from famous and amateur poets from around the world — collaboratively published by a community of authors and contributing editors.

Navigate through our poetry database by subjects, alphabetically or simply search by keywords. You can submit a new poem, discuss and rate existing work, listen to poems using voice pronunciation and even translate pieces to many common and not-so-common languages.

Rate this poem:(0.00 / 0 votes)

The Telegraph Clerk

Sitting here by my desk all day,
Hearing the constant click
As the messages speed on their way,
And the call comes sharp and quick--
Oh, what a varied tale they tell
Of joy and hope and fear!
The funeral knell and the marriage bell
In their steady tick I hear.

'Mother is dying; come at once.'

And the tears will almost start,
For tender daughters and loving sons--
God pity each aching heart!
Ah! how the haunting memories press
Of the mother's unfailing tenderness,
That is now forever o'er.

'I am well; will come tonight.'

How bright some eyes will glow
All day long with a happy light
As they watch the moments go.

Have had no letters; is something wrong?'

Some heart is sad today,
Counting the hours that seem so long
For the sake of one away.

'Arthur Ross, by accident killed;
Tell his mother, am coming home.'

Alas for the home with such sorrow filled,
When the bitter tidings come!

'Alice is better; gaining fast.'

And hearts that have been bowed
Under their weight of fear, at last
Shall lose their weary load.

So over the wires the tidings speed,
Bitter and grave and gay;
Some hearts shall beat, and some shall bleed,
For the tale they have to say.
As I sit all day by my desk alone
I hear the steam go by,
And catch the wires' changeful tone
With a smile and then a sigh.

Font size:
Collection  Edit     
 

Submitted on May 13, 2011

1:13 min read
36 Views

Discuss this Anonymous Americas poem with the community:

0 Comments

    Translation

    Find a translation for this poem in other languages:

    Select another language:

    • - Select -
    • 简体中文 (Chinese - Simplified)
    • 繁體中文 (Chinese - Traditional)
    • Español (Spanish)
    • Esperanto (Esperanto)
    • 日本語 (Japanese)
    • Português (Portuguese)
    • Deutsch (German)
    • العربية (Arabic)
    • Français (French)
    • Русский (Russian)
    • ಕನ್ನಡ (Kannada)
    • 한국어 (Korean)
    • עברית (Hebrew)
    • Gaeilge (Irish)
    • Українська (Ukrainian)
    • اردو (Urdu)
    • Magyar (Hungarian)
    • मानक हिन्दी (Hindi)
    • Indonesia (Indonesian)
    • Italiano (Italian)
    • தமிழ் (Tamil)
    • Türkçe (Turkish)
    • తెలుగు (Telugu)
    • ภาษาไทย (Thai)
    • Tiếng Việt (Vietnamese)
    • Čeština (Czech)
    • Polski (Polish)
    • Bahasa Indonesia (Indonesian)
    • Românește (Romanian)
    • Nederlands (Dutch)
    • Ελληνικά (Greek)
    • Latinum (Latin)
    • Svenska (Swedish)
    • Dansk (Danish)
    • Suomi (Finnish)
    • فارسی (Persian)
    • ייִדיש (Yiddish)
    • հայերեն (Armenian)
    • Norsk (Norwegian)
    • English (English)

    Citation

    Use the citation below to add this poem to your bibliography:

    Style:MLAChicagoAPA

    "The Telegraph Clerk" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2021. Web. 31 Jul 2021. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/3520/the-telegraph-clerk>.

    Become a member!

    Join our community of poets and poetry lovers to share your work and offer feedback and encouragement to writers all over the world!

    Browse Poetry.com

    Quiz

    Are you a poetry master?

    »
    Roald Dahl wrote: "The animal I really dig, above all others is the..."
    • A. pig
    • B. horse
    • C. cat
    • D. dog

    Our favorite collection of

    Famous Poets

    »