| Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900. |
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| 1337. The Hundred-Yard Dash |
| | | By William Lindsey |
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| GIVE me a race that is run in a breath, | |
| Straight from the start to the “tape;” | |
| Distance hath charms, but a “Ding Dong” means death, | |
| Death without flowers and crape. | |
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| “On your mark,” “Set,”—for a moment we strain, | 5 |
| Held by a leash all unseen; | |
| “P’ff,” we are off, from the pistol we gain | |
| Yards, if the starter’s not keen. | |
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| Off like lean greyhounds, the cinders scarce stir | |
| Under the touch of our feet; | 10 |
| Flashes of sunlight, the crowd’s muffled purr, | |
| The rush of the wind, warm and sweet. | |
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| One last fierce effort; the red worsted breaks, | |
| Struggle and strain are all past; | |
| Only ten ticks of the watch, but it makes | 15 |
| First, second, third, and the last. | |
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