Roses never bloom here; silken petals
Cannot be defiled.
Streets in ragged attire, sang-froid in their violence;
Years come and go; still your hideousness goes on
And mute outcasts garnish
Your every rendezvous.
Blind pigs, reeking with a nauseous smell everywhere;
The so-called “flops,” the lousy beds
Where slaves of mill and mine and rail and shop
Curl up and drop away unconscious,