Fog fills the street night white,
Crushing the steel chasms
And blinding the alleys of wine.
Cold, the city drifts,
Bleak below its darkened hour,
Breathing, unrelenting,
The dew of heaven.
In coats of chain,
Grinding briefly their eye-fingers,
Like glass blown crisp against the mansions,
Brows smooth, hats dimply down,
Simpering shyly into the
Cloak-stopped night,
Lives stalk, thin abreast.
Here the fog creeps
Beyond your avenues
To invade the souls
Of weather-weary men,
Enshrouding their hearts
In ever darkening circles,
Enshrouding their lives.
Below your bridges
And muted trees
They lie in syncope,
Waiting for a frozen moon
As clouds swell
Across a lead-lined sky
And streetlights murmur.
Fair city,
I have left you...
