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.