Leather Lane
Reading edition
Three restless gas-jets In Leather Lane; A thousand faces, Wandering in the night, Too dull for pain. God saw; God quenched the light. But God had not choked The clamor of gaunt curses That stalk in Leather Lane, Uncloaked, Blatant with strength of dour years. God heard; God stopped His ears. Ho! God had forgot His nose, And in the stench that rose From Leather Lane, God died. —Mitchell Dawson.