Upon Westminster Bridge

Earth has not anything to show more fair:
This is as good as it gets I'm afraid.
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
Cyclists should still be able to get through down the outside lane,
A sight so touching in its majesty:
It's a 'delight' to see them glide past.
This City now doth like a garment wear
Town is shrouded in stinking smog.
The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,
It's morning rush-hour and nothing's moving,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
The landscape is motionless from my tin-box on wheels.
Open unto the fields, and to the sky;
It was like this all the way up the A3;
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Rows of shiny cars, and me gasping for a fag.
Never did sun more beautifully steep
Annoyingly its a lovely day too,
In his first splendour valley, rock, or hill;
From sunrise I've been stuck in this bloody jam;
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
It's like being at the bottom of a lake.
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
The only thing moving is the water:
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
Dear God I wish I'd stayed in bed;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!
Even death is preferable.