I'm just listening to a classical radio program - this one featuring the modern and rather hard-to-take composer Elliott Carter. He set three of Robert Frost's poems to music, one of them being "The Line Gang"
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.