Rudyard Kipling’s Calcutta
Thus the midday halt of Charnock–more’s the pity! Grew a City. As the fungus sprouts chaotic from its bed, So it spread– Chance-directed, chance-erected, laid and built On the silt– Palace, byre, hovel–poverty and pride– Side by side; And, above the packed and pestilential town, Death looked down.
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