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. WALK 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. 'BUS-TOP 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. TRANSPOSITION 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. I glide out unobservant In the midst of the traffic Blown like a leaf Hither and thither, Till the city resolves itself into a clamour of voices, Crying hollowly, like the wind rustling through the forest, Against the frozen housefronts: Lost in the glitter of a million movements. PERIPETEIA I can no longer find a place for myself: I go. There are too many things to detain me, But the force behind is reckless. Noise, uproar, movement Slide me outwards, Black sleet shivering Down red walls. In thick jungles of green, this gyration, My centrifugal folly, Through roaring dust and futility spattered, Will find its own repose. Golden lights will gleam out sullenly into silence, Before I return. MID-FLIGHT We rush, a black throng, Straight upon darkness: Motes scattered By the arc's rays. Over the bridge fluttering, It is theatre-time, No one heeds. Lost amid greenness We will sleep all night; And in the morning Coming forth, we will shake wet wings Over the settled dust of to-day. The city hurls its cobbled streets after us, To drive us faster. We must attain the night Before endless processions Of lamps Push us back. A clock with quivering hands Leaps to the trajectory-angle of our departure. We leave behind pale traces of achievement: Fires that we kindled but were too tired to put out, Broad gold fans brushing softly over dark walls, Stifled uproar of night. We are already cast forth: The signal of our departure Jerks down before we have learned we are to go. STATION We descend Into a wall of green. Straggling shapes: Afterwards none are seen. I find myself Alone. I look back: The city has grown. One grey wall Windowed, unlit. Heavily, night Crushes the face of it. I go on. My memories freeze Like birds' cry In hollow trees. I go on. Up and outright To the hostility Of night. F. S. FLINT F. S. FLINT TREES Elm trees and the leaf the boy in me hated long ago-- rough and sandy. Poplars and their leaves, tender, smooth to the fingers, and a secret in their smell I have forgotten.