April is the cruellest month, breeding
- Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
- Memory and desire, stirring
- Dull roots with spring rain.
- Unreal City,
- 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.
- Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled,
- And each man fixed his eyes before his feet.
- 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?
- There is shadow under this red rock
- (Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
- And I will show you something different from either
- Your shadow at morning striding behind you
- Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
- I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
- Under the firelight, under the brush, her hair
- Spread out in fiery points
- Glowed into words, then would be savagely still.
- 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.
- Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song.
- The time is now propitious, as he guesses,
- The meal is ended, she is bored and tired,
- Endeavours to engage her in caresses
- Which still are unreproved, if undesired.
- Flushed and decided, he assaults at once;
- Exploring hands encounter no defence;
- His vanity requires no response,
- And makes a welcome of indifference.
- If there were only water amongst the rock
- Dead mountain mouth of carious teeth that cannot spit
- Here one can neither stand nor lie nor sit
- There is not even silence in the mountains
- But dry sterile thunder without rain
- Who is the third who walks always beside you
- When I count, there are only you and I together
- But when I look ahead up the white road
- There is always another one walking beside you
- A woman drew her long black hair out tight
- And fiddled whisper music on those strings
- And bats with baby faces in the violet light
- Whistled, and beat their wings
- And crawled head downward down a blackened wall
- And upside down in air were towers
- Tolling reminiscent bells, that kept the hours
- And voices singing out of empty cisterns and exhausted wells.
- My friend, blood shaking my heart
- The awful daring of a moment's surrender
- Which an age of prudence can never retract
- By this, and this only, we have existed
- Which is not to be found in our obituaries
- Or in memories draped by the beneficent spider
- Or under seals broken by the lean solicitor
- In our empty rooms
- I have heard the key
- Turn in the door once and turn once only
- We think of the key, each in his prison
- Thinking of the key, each confirms a prison
More T. S. Eliot Quotes