The winter evening settles down 
With smell of steaks in passageways.
Six o'clock.
The burnt-out ends of smoky days.
And now a gusty shower wraps
The grimy scraps
Of withered leaves about your feet
And newspapers from vacant lots;
The showers beat
On broken blinds and chimney-pots,
And at the corner of the street
A lonely cab-horse steams and stamps.
And then the lighting of the lamps.
 

II 

The morning comes to consciousness
Of faint stale smells of beer
From the sawdust-trampled street
With all its muddy feet that press
To early coffee-stands.

With the other masquerades
That time resumes,
One thinks of all the hands
That are raising dingy shades
In a thousand furnished rooms.
 

III 

You tossed a blanket from the bed,
You lay upon your back, and waited;
You dozed, and watched the night revealing
The thousand sordid images
Of which your soul was constituted;
They flickered against the ceiling.
And when all the world came back
And the light crept up between the shutters
And you heard the sparrows in the gutters,
You had such a vision of the street
As the street hardly understands;
Sitting along the bed's edge, where
You curled the papers from your hair,
Or clasped the yellow soles of feet
In the palms of both soiled hands.
 

IV 

His soul stretched tight across the skies
That fade behind a city block,
Or trampled by insistent feet
At four and five and six o'clock;
And short square fingers stuffing pipes,
And evening newspapers, and eyes
Assured of certain certainties,
The conscience of a blackened street
Impatient to assume the world.

I am moved by fancies that are curled
Around these images, and cling:
The notion of some infinitely gentle
Infinitely suffering thing.

Wipe your hand across your mouth, and laugh;
The worlds revolve like ancient women
Gathering fuel in vacant lots
 

A seia d'inverno a se pösa
con 'n ödô de bistecche pe-e stradde.
Sei öe.
Stoppin frusti de giorni fummegoxi.
E òua unna rammâ de borrasca a l'ingheugge
i avansi brutti
de feugge secche in gïo a-i vòstri pê
e giornali de tære da vende;
e rammæ pìccan
in scê giöxìe rotte e i fummaieu,
e in sciô canto da stradda
un solitäio cavallo da carrosse o fumma e o pesta e sampe. 
E dappeu s'açende i fanæ.

II

A mattin a se fa conosce
con di lëgi ödoî inaxoïi de bïra
da-a stradda coerta de serreuia pestâ
con tutti i sarpaggi de pê che s'aspréscian
verso i caffè da mattin.
Co-e ätre xannate
che o tempo o transumme,
se pensa à tutte e moæn
che ïsan de ombre scùe
inte miggiæa de stansie mobiliæ.

III

T'æ tiòu zù a coerta d'in sciô letto,
ti t'ê missa sorvinn-a e t'æ aspëtòu;
t'æ pisaggiòu e t'æ ammiòu a neutte ch'a te fa conosce
e miggiæa de figùe sùccide
che l'è fæto a teu ànima;
tremmoàvan contr'a-a soffïta,
e quande tutto o mondo o l'è vegnùo in derrê
e a luxe a l'é coâ de tra e giöxìe
e t'æ sentïo e pàssoe inte gronde,
t'æ avùo unna vixon da stradda
che a stradda a l'accapisce à ïsa à ïsa;
stæta assettâ in sciâ zinn-a do letto,
ti t'ê allevâ i cannelli d'inti cavelli,
ò t'æ streito e ciante giane di pê
into parmusso de moæn brutte.

IV

A seu ànima a s'attesava traverso i çê
che scéntan de derrê à un blòcco da çittæ,
ò a l'ëa pestissâ da di pê che inscìstan
à quattr'öe, à çinque e à sei;
e de curte dïe quaddre ìmpan e pippe,
e giornali da seia, e euggi
asseguæ da de çertesse che no se peu indubitâ,
a conscensa de'nna stradda vegnùa neigra
sensa paçiensa d'assumme o mondo.
Mi son mesciòu da de fantaxìe che se intortìgnan
d'in gïo à ste figùe, e zinzann-an:
a noçion de quarcösa sensa fin corteise
ch'a patisce sensa fin.

Frettæve a man in sciâ bocca, e riei;
i mondi gïan comme de dònne antighe
che cheuggian legne inte de tære da vende.