'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.