Even as when In planning some steel-rutted road, long years Dreamed of, — where now the fire-horse ramps, steam-breath'd, Sweating red coal-drops on his panting path, — The deep-eyed engineer his level lays Inscrutable, and anon, the hills with men, Brood of his brain swarm.

Festus: A Poem - Scene XXVm (p. 472), George Routledge & Sons, Limited. 1893