D.H. Lawrence (1885–1930). New Poems. 1916.

10. Suburbs on a Hazy Day

O STIFFLY shapen houses that change not,

What conjuror’s cloth was thrown across you, and raised

To show you thus transfigured, changed,

Your stuff all gone, your menace almost rased?

Such resolute shapes, so harshly set

In hollow blocks and cubes deformed, and heaped

In void and null profusion, how is this?

In what strong aqua regia now are you steeped?

That you lose the brick-stuff out of you

And hover like a presentment, fading faint

And vanquished, evaporate away

To leave but only the merest possible taint!