The sky is cloudy, yellowed by the smoke. br For view there are the houses opposite br Cutting the sky with one long line of wall br Like solid fog: far as the eye can stretch br Monotony of surface & of form br Without a break to hang a guess upon. br No bird can make a shadow as it flies, br For all is shadow, as in ways o'erhung br By thickest canvass, where the golden rays br Are clothed in hemp. No figure lingering br Pauses to feed the hunger of the eye br Or rest a little on the lap of life. br All hurry on & look upon the ground, br Or glance unmarking at the passers by br The wheels are hurrying too, cabs, carriages br All closed, in multiplied identity. br The world seems one huge prison-house & court br Where men are punished at the slightest cost, br With lowest rate of colour, warmth & joy.