A London Thoroughfare. 2 A.M.They have watered the street， It shines in the glare of lamps， Cold， white lamps， And lies Like a slow-moving river， Barred with silver and black. Cabs go down it， One， And then another， Between them I hear the shuffling of feet. Tramps doze on the window-ledges， Night-walkers pass along the sidewalks. The city is squalid and sinister， With the silver-barred street in the midst， Slow-moving， A river leading nowhere. Opposite my window， The moon cuts， Clear and round， Through the plum-coloured night. She cannot light the city： It is too bright. It has white lamps， And glitters coldly. I stand in the window and watch the moon. She is thin and lustreless， But I love her. I know the moon， And this is an alien city. 。
