Here come the line-gang pioneering by. They throw a forest down less cut than broken. They plant dead trees for living, and the dead They string together with a living thread. They string an instrument against the sky Wherein words whether beaten out or spoken Will run as hushed as when they were a thought. But in no hush they string it: they go past With shouts afar to pull the cable taut, To hold it hard until they make it fast, To ease away -- they have it. With a laugh, An oath of towns that set the wild at naught They bring the telephone and telegraph. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DESPAIR by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON WHEN I AM DEAD by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON WAITING IN THE CHILDREN'S HOSPITAL by CLARENCE MAJOR LITTLE BROTHER'S STORY by KATHERINE MANSFIELD SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: TENNESSEE CLAFLIN SHOPE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |