We Flash Across The Level. We Thunder Thro' The Bridges. We Bicker Down The Cuttings. We Sway Along The Ridges. A Rush Of Streaming Hedges, Of Jostling Lights And Shadows, Of Hurtling, Hurrying Stations, Of Racing Woods And Meadows. We Charge The Tunnels Headlong - The Blackness Roars And Shatters. We Crash Between Embankments - The Open Spins And Scatters. We Shake Off The Miles Like Water, We Might Carry A Royal Ransom; And I Think Of Her Waiting, Waiting, And Long For A Common Hansom. 1876