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Eliot, T. S. 1922. The Waste Land

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Saved by 1 people (0 private), first by anonymouse user on 2009-06-19


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—Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden,  Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not  Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither  Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,  40 Looking into the heart of light, the silence.

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Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel,  And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card,  Which is blank, is something he carries on his back,  Which I am forbidden to see.

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Unreal City,  60 Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,  A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,  I had not thought death had undone so many.

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'That corpse you planted last year in your garden,  'Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?  'Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed?  'Oh keep the Dog far hence, that's friend to men,  'Or with his nails he'll dig it up again!  75 'You! hypocrite lecteur!—mon semblable,—mon frère!'

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In vials of ivory and coloured glass  Unstoppered, lurked her strange synthetic perfumes,

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'I shall rush out as I am, and walk the street  'With my hair down, so. What shall we do to-morrow?  'What shall we ever do?'

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And if it rains, a closed car at four.  And we shall play a game of chess,  Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door.

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It's them pills I took, to bring it off, she said.  (She's had five already, and nearly died of young George.)

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Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night.

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THE river's tent is broken: the last fingers of leaf  Clutch and sink into the wet bank. The wind  Crosses the brown land, unheard. The nymphs are departed. 175 Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song.  The river bears no empty bottles, sandwich papers,  Silk handkerchiefs, cardboard boxes, cigarette ends  Or other testimony of summer nights. The nymphs are departed.  And their friends, the loitering heirs of city directors; 180 Departed, have left no addresses.  By the waters of Leman I sat down and wept...  Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song,  Sweet Thames, run softly, for I speak not loud or long.  But at my back in a cold blast I hear 185 The rattle of the bones, and chuckle spread from ear to ear.

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On a winter evening round behind the gashouse 190 Musing upon the king my brother's wreck  And on the king my father's death before him.

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One of the low on whom assurance sits  As a silk hat on a Bradford millionaire.

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Endeavours to engage her in caresses  Which still are unreproved, if undesired.

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(And I Tiresias have foresuffered all  Enacted on this same divan or bed;  I who have sat by Thebes below the wall 245 And walked among the lowest of the dead.)  Bestows on final patronising kiss,  And gropes his way, finding the stairs unlit...

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O City city, I can sometimes hear  Beside a public bar in Lower Thames Street, 260 The pleasant whining of a mandoline  And a clatter and a chatter from within  Where fishmen lounge at noon: where the walls  Of Magnus Martyr hold  Inexplicable splendour of Ionian white and gold. 265  

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A current under sea 315 Picked his bones in whispers. As he rose and fell  He passed the stages of his age and youth  Entering the whirlpool.                            Gentile or Jew  O you who turn the wheel and look to windward, 320 Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you.

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He who was living is now dead  We who were living are now dying

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  If there were the sound of water only    Not the cicada    And dry grass singing    But sound of water over a rock

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Who is the third who walks always beside you?  When I count, there are only you and I together 360 But when I look ahead up the white road  There is always another one walking beside you  Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded  I do not know whether a man or a woman  —But who is that on the other side of you?

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The jungle crouched, humped in silence.

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We think of the key, each in his prison  Thinking of the key, each confirms a prison

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The sea was calm, your heart would have responded 420 Gaily, when invited, beating obedient  To controlling hands

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These fragments I have shored against my ruins

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