The Telegraph Operator

I will not wash my face; I will not brush my hair; I "pig" around the place-- There's nobody to care. Nothing but rock and tree; Nothing but wood and stone, Oh, God, it's hell to be Alone, alone, alone!

Snow-peaks and deep-gashed draws Corral me in a ring. I feel as if I was The only living thing On all this blighted earth; And so I frowst and shrink, And crouching by my hearth I hear the thoughts I think.

I think of all I miss-- The boys I used to know; The girls I used to kiss; The coin I used to blow: The bars I used to haunt; The racket and the row; The beers I didn't want (I wish I had 'em now).

Day after day the same, Only a little worse; No one to grouch or blame-- Oh, for a loving curse! Oh, in the night I fear, Haunted by nameless things, Just for a voice to cheer, Just for a hand that clings!

Faintly as from a star Voices come o'er the line; Voices of ghosts afar, Not in this world of mine; Lives in whose loom I grope; Words in whose weft I hear Eager the thrill of hope, Awful the chill of fear.

I'm thinking out aloud; I reckon that is bad; (The snow is like a shroud)-- Maybe I'm going mad. Say! wouldn't that be tough? This awful hush that hugs And chokes one is enough To make a man go "bugs".

There's not a thing to do; I cannot sleep at night; No wonder I'm so blue; Oh, for a friendly fight! The din and rush of strife; A music-hall aglow; A crowd, a city, life-- Dear God, I miss it so!

Here, you have moped enough! Brace up and play the game! But say, it's awful tough-- Day after day the same (I've said that twice, I bet). Well, there's not much to say. I wish I had a pet, Or something I could play.

Cheer up! don't get so glum And sick of everything; The worst is yet to come; God help you till the Spring. God shield you from the Fear; Teach you to laugh, not moan. Ha! ha! it sounds so queer-- Alone, alone, alone!