A very forgiving medium, it seems,
        Not like cement
Which struts and strangles until roofs and beams
        Are racked and rent.

Round here the jerry-built and stucco’d blocks
        From Hardy’s Age
Have huge exciting windows, paradox
        Of bird and cage

Whose first proprietors sang by coal-fires
        The servants set,
Whose morals were adjacent their desires
        To have and get.

Their cold-faced world turned them to optimists:
        However hard
To be In Trade and climb the Social Lists,
        The Visiting Car

Was trusted to revoke Equality,
        That careless turn
Which might mean daughters’ tears, a son at sea,
        The ash-filled urn.

Their slapdash heirs, rent-paying Arrivistes
        From anywhere,
Prefer a nervous vigil to a feast,
        And stair by stair

Mount to a tower where their metered gaze
        Tracks modern living,
A limeless medium, fallen on hard days,
        And unforgiving.