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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE CHESS-PLAYERS, by EDWARD NOYES POMEROY
First Line: The clock, unheeded, peals the midnight hour
Last Line: And each automaton becomes a man.
Subject(s): Chess; Competition; Games; Recreation; Pastimes; Amusements
First Line: The clock, unheeded, peals the midnight hour
Last Line: And each automaton becomes a man.
Subject(s): Chess; Competition; Games; Recreation; Pastimes; Amusements
The clock, unheeded, peals the midnight hour;
The house is mute, the light is waxen dim:
Whose is the wand, and whence the magic power
That these has smitten with enchantment grim?
The pigmy figures on the painted squares,
Silent as cloistered friars on their knees
Whom death transmutes to marble at their prayers,
Seem not more stiff and statuelike than these.
With hearts of champions charging in the lists,
Whose lances crumble as they crash and fall;
With nerves of boxers pounding with their fists;
There is no movement; it is semblance all.
Save that, at intervals, a hand outstretched
Beckons a charge or signals a retreat;
Or, from the depths whence plots malign are fetched,
Issues the interdict that seals defeat.
The mimic battle has been lost and won;
The spacious night has shrunken to a span;
The world is lifted from oblivion,
And each automaton becomes a man.
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