Here is too swift a movement, The rest is too still.
They quiver gently From base to summit. Ripples of impulse run through them, Flattering resistance.
Soon they will fall; Already smoke yearns upward. Clouds of dust, Crash of collapsing cubes.
I prefer deeper patience, Monotony of stalled beasts. O angle-builders, Vainly have you prolonged your effort, For I descend amid you, Past rungs and slopes of curving slippery steel.
Sudden struggle for foothold on the pavement, Familiar ascension.
I do not heed the city any more, It has given me a duty to perform. I pass along nonchalantly, Insinuating myself into self-baffling movements. Impalpable charm of back streets In which I find myself: Cool spaces filled with shadow. Passers-by, white hammocks in the sunlight.
Bulging outcrush into old tumult; Attainment, as of a narrow harbour, Of some shop forgotten by traffic With cool-corridored walls.
Black shapes bending, Taxicabs crush in the crowd. The tops are each a shining square Shuttles that steadily press through woolly fabric.
Drooping blossom, Gas-standards over Spray out jingling tumult Of white-hot rays.
Monotonous domes of bowler-hats Vibrate in the heat.
Silently, easily we sway through braying traffic, Down the crowded street. The tumult crouches over us, Or suddenly drifts to one side.
I am blown like a leaf Hither and thither. The city about me Resolves itself into sound of many voices, Rustling and fluttering, Leaves shaken by the breeze.
A million forces ignore me, I know not why, I am drunken with it all. Suddenly I feel an immense will Stored up hitherto and unconscious till this instant. Projecting my body Across a street, in the face of all its traffic.
I dart and dash: I do not know why I go. These people watch me, I yield them my adventure.
Lazily I lounge through labyrinthine corridors, And with eyes suddenly altered, I peer into an office I do not know, And wonder at a startled face that penetrates my own.
Roses--pavement-- I will take all this city away with me-- People--uproar--the pavement jostling and flickering-- Women with incredible eyelids: Dandies in spats: Hard-faced throng discussing me--I know them all. I will take them away with me, I insistently rob them of their essence, I must have it all before night, To sing amid my green.