[Martin Parker]

I reckon Wordsworth's ghost should have the chance to have a go at this, though he will need to shape the ending better. (and probably much of the rest as well!) --

Earth had not anything to show more fair
when first I paused and wrote, a passer-by
who saw in London naught but majesty.
Yet London now doth like a felon wear
a prison house’s stench from which each bare-
faced, money-grabbing, wild, lick-penny lie
doth rise, a Devil’s incense, to the sky
and hangs like poison in the godless air.
Never did sun more hesitantly steep
above a banker’s paunch or six-day bill
nor saw I Mammon gorging quite so deep.
The river cringeth past his fetid swill
where greed and counting houses never sleep,
the city’s heart now but one mighty till.