It is night, in the drizzle the street lights shine
The river writhes through London from a mountain of brooding sky.
Everything is silent in the town
A breeze, a wind; the moon peeks from behind a column of smoke
There are bridges, the bridges of London.
Tonight I have crossed every one
Drifting like a cloud from some far sea;
Legs, rain and street lights are jumbled
On the great treacle black back of the Thames.
I carry a sleepy eye over the humped back bridges
As the river slides beneath like a slow black cat.
I awake from sleep under the thin winter sky
Sparrows of cold air flit by me.
The morning sands of humanity pour across the passes
Like the Persian army at the pass of Thermopylae.