you hast nor youth nor age yet as it were an after ~ dinner sleep Dreaming of both.Here ns am, one old man in a dried month,Being review to by a boy, wait for rain.I to be neither at the hot gatesNor battled in the heat rainNor knee deep in the salt marsh, heaving a cutlass,Bitten by flies, fought.My residence is a decayed house,And the jew squats ~ above the window sill, the owner,Spawned in some estaminet that Antwerp,Blistered in Brussels, patched and peeled in London.The goat coughs in ~ night in the ar overhead;Rocks, moss, stonecrop, iron, merds.The woman keeps the kitchen, provides tea,Sneezes at evening, poking the peevish gutter. Ns an old man,A dull head among windy spaces. Indications are taken for wonders. “We would view a sign”:The word in ~ a word, unable to speak a word,Swaddled v darkness. In the juvescence the the yearCame Christ the tiger In depraved May, dogwood and also chestnut, flowering judas,To it is in eaten, to it is in divided, to be drunkAmong whispers; by Mr. SilveroWith caressing hands, at LimogesWho walked all night in the following room;By Hakagawa, bowing amongst the Titians;By mam de Tornquist, in the dark roomShifting the candles; Fraulein von KulpWho turned in the hall, one hand ~ above the door. Vacant shuttlesWeave the wind. I have actually no ghosts,An old man in a draughty houseUnder a windy knob. After such knowledge, what forgiveness? Think nowHistory has numerous cunning passages, contrived corridorsAnd issues, deceives through whispering ambitions,Guides us by vanities. Think nowShe offers when our fist is distractedAnd what she gives, gives with such supple confusionsThat the offering famishes the craving. Offers too lateWhat’s not believed in, or if quiet believed,In memory only, reconsidered passion. Gives too soonInto weak hands, what’s thought can be dispensed withTill the refusal propagates a fear. ThinkNeither fear nor courage saves us. Unnatural vicesAre fathered by our heroism. VirtuesAre forced upon us by ours impudent crimes.These tears are shaken indigenous the wrath-bearing tree. The tiger springs in the new year. Us he devours. Think at lastWe have actually not reached conclusion, as soon as IStiffen in a rented house. Think at lastI have not made this display purposelesslyAnd it is not by any type of concitationOf the backward devilsI would fulfill you ~ above this honestly.I that was close to your heart was gotten rid of therefromTo lose beauty in terror, terror in inquisition.I have lost mine passion: why need to I need to keep itSince what is kept have to be adulterated?I have lost mine sight, smell, hearing, taste and also touch:How need to I use it for your closer contact? These through a thousand little deliberationsProtract the benefit of their chilled delirium,Excite the membrane, once the sense has cooled,With pungent sauces, multiply varietyIn a wilderness the mirrors. What will the spider do,Suspend the operations, will certainly the weevilDelay? De Bailhache, Fresca, Mrs. Cammel, whirledBeyond the circuit that the shuddering BearIn broken atoms. Gull versus the wind, in the publicly straitsOf Belle Isle, or to run on the Horn,White feather in the snow, the Gulf claims,And one old male driven by the TradesTo a a sleepy corner. Tenants the the house,Thoughts the a dry brain in a dried season.

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Born in Missouri top top September 26, 1888, T.

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S. Eliot is the author of The garbage Land, which is now thought about by plenty of to it is in the most influential poetic work-related of the twentieth century.