Bare on your streets, sly City, Bare as the beggars of old, Suffering in your seven-helled squalor You, from your Gate of Gold, Facing the rising violence, Swamped in the sunset gloom, Trapped in an endless crisis, City of tents and of doom!

Here is the original from 19th Century -

Fair on your hills, my City, Fair as the Queen of old, Supreme in her seven-hilled splendor You, from your Gate of Gold, Facing the orient sunburst, Swathed in the sunset gleams, Throned in an ultimate glory, City of mists and of dreams!

(Ira Coolbrith 1879)