By day and night this street is not still;
Omnibuses with red tail-lamps,
Taxicabs with shiny eyes,
Rumble, shunning its ugliness.
It is corrugated with wheel-ruts,
It is dented and pockmarked with traffic,
It has no time for sleep.
It heaves its old scarred countenance
Skyward between the buildings
And never says a word.
On rainy nights
It dully gleams
Like the cold tarnished scales of a snake:
And over it hang arc-lamps
Blue-white death-lilies on black stems.
John Gould Fletcher, in Imagist Poetry, Penguin Books, 1972.