The Noise of the Cabarets

The noise of the cabarets, the muck of the sidewalks,
The shrunken plane-trees shedding their leaves in the foul
air,
'The omnibus, hurricane of junk-iron and mud,
That grates, badly seated on its four wheels,
And rolls its eyes slowly red and green,
The workers on their way to the club, puffing
Their stubby pipes at the noses of the police,
Leaky roofs, dripping walls, slippery cobblestones,
Worn-out pavements, gutters overflowing the sewers,
That's how my route lies-with paradise at the end.