This life in London - what a waste
Of time and comfort, in this place;
With all its noise, and nothing seen
But what is stone or human face.
Twigs thin and bare, like sparrows3 legs.
Yet back to Nature I must go -
To see the thin, mosquito flakes
Grow into moths of plumper snow.

What is this life, if, like bad clocks.
We keep no time and are but going;
What is my breath worth when I hear
A hundred horns and whistles blowing
The rushing cars that crunch their way,
Still followed by the heavy carts;
Till I, with all my senses stunned,
Am deafened to my very thoughts.