Untiring, on their mounts of fire and steel,
The shielded chauffeurs, watchful, hand on wheel,
Have flashed through many a league;--have breathed the dust
Of devious ways; have skirted wood and sea;
Have traversed towns, crossed rivers, hills and dales;--
Nor halted once! To learn geography
By such vast lessons, though it tire the flesh,
Exalts the soul and makes the spirit free.
But now must end this vast, Titanic race!
(It cannot last forever!)--See! The place
Lies there!... A broad, white banner bars the way,
Between two lofty poles with streamers gay.
The “FINISH” there we read. The end at last!
All rest and glory, once that goal is passed!
A final burst!--The driver grips the bar!
The “FINISH!” In the road he sees afar
A judge with solemn air attentive stand,
Waving a crimson kerchief in his hand...
“Stop!” Harshly grinds the brake--“What number’s this?”
“Your name?”
Recorded!
Apotheosis!!