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The Line-Gang
Robert Frost 1874 (San Francisco) – 1963 (Boston)
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 taught,
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.
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Citation
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"The Line-Gang" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2021. Web. 16 Jan. 2021. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/30920/the-line-gang>.