You would not with that fiendish jerk
Let out that sudden blast of steam
Whose screaming almost makes us scream
Thy whistle weird perchance may be
A sad and sore necessity,
But cannot Law and sense combine
To—well, in short to draw the line?—
Across the open let it shrill
From moor to moor, from hill to hill,
But in the tunnel's crypt-like gloom,