Dim dawn behind the tamarisks—the sky is saffron-yellow—
  As the women in the village grind the corn,
And the parrots seek the river-side, each calling to his fellow
  That the Day, the staring Eastern Day is born.
    Oh the white dust on the highway!
        Oh the stenches in the byway!
      Oh the clammy fog that hovers over earth!...