Unreal City (T.S. Eliot)
[…]under the brown fog of a winder dawn
a crowd flowed over London bridge, so many,
I had not though death had undone so many.
Sights, short and infrequent, were exhaled.
and each man fixed his eyes before his feet.
Flowed up the hill and down King William street
to where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours
with a dead sound on the final stroke of nine.