Page:When the Leaves Come Out (Chaplin 1917).pdf/48

 

Dull fog—grey veil enfolding all,
 * Dim buildings, lurid sunbeam kissed,
 * A skyline rising into mist
 * Where coiling vapors writhe and twist

And dismal dun-toned shadows fall.

Grim tugs that plow the grimy stream
 * With waves cut fanwise by the keel;
 * A bridge, etched bold in lines of steel
 * And smudged with swarming crowds that reel

Like dizzy phantoms through a dream.

Damp breeze that brings a fetid smell,
 * A roar that waxes loud and lulls.
 * Far down below the grey-wing gulls
 * Soar round the gloomy steamer hulls,

All blurred within a hazy hell.

The clanging clamour swells afar;
 * The strife-worn mobs rush madly by;
 * The ghostly city towers high,
 * But, distant in the fading sky,

In holy silence gleams one star. 