Type

All night, the sky was draped in darkness thick; From rumbling clouds imprisoned lightenings swept; Into the printer's stick, With energetic click, The ranks of type into battalions crept, Which formed brigades while dreaming labor slept; And ere dawn's crimson pennons were unfurled, The night-formed columns charged the waking world.

Selections from Ironquill
(Topeka: Crane & Co. 1899)