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    Poems
    Poems
    Poems
    Ebook75 pages33 minutes

    Poems

    By T. S. (Thomas Stearns) Eliot

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    Read preview
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateNov 27, 2013
    Poems

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      Book preview

      Poems - T. S. (Thomas Stearns) Eliot

      The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by T. S. [Thomas Stearns] Eliot

      This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

      almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or

      re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included

      with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org

      Title: Poems

      Author: T. S. [Thomas Stearns] Eliot

      Release Date: September 17, 2008 [EBook #1567]

      Last Updated: January 25, 2013

      Language: English

      *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS ***

      Produced by Bill Brewer, and David Widger

      POEMS

      by T. S. ELIOT

      New York Alfred A. Knopf 1920

      To Jean Verdenal 1889-1915

      Certain of these poems first appeared in Poetry, Blast,

      Others, The Little Review, and Art and Letters.

      CONTENTS

      POEMS

      Gerontion

      Burbank with a Baedeker: Bleistein with a Cigar

      Sweeney Erect

      A Cooking Egg

      Le Directeur

      Mélange adultère de tout

      Lune de Miel

      The Hippopotamus

      Dans le Restaurant

      Whispers of Immortality

      Mr. Eliot's Sunday Morning Service

      Sweeney Among the Nightingales

      The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

      Portrait of a Lady

      Preludes

      Rhapsody on a Windy Night

      Morning at the Window

      The Boston Evening Transcript

      Aunt Helen

      Cousin Nancy

      Mr. Apollinax

      Hysteria

      Conversation Galante

      La Figlia Che Piange

      POEMS

      Gerontion

             Thou hast nor youth nor age

             But as it were an after dinner sleep

             Dreaming of both.

           Here I am, an old man in a dry month,

           Being read to by a boy, waiting for rain.

           I was neither at the hot gates

           Nor fought in the warm rain

           Nor knee deep in the salt marsh, heaving a cutlass,

           Bitten by flies, fought.

           My house is a decayed house,

           And the jew squats on the window sill, the owner,

           Spawned in some estaminet of Antwerp,

           Blistered in Brussels, patched and peeled in London.

           The goat coughs at night in the field overhead;

           Rocks, moss, stonecrop, iron, merds.

           The woman keeps the kitchen, makes tea,

           Sneezes at evening, poking the peevish gutter.

                             I an old man,

           A dull head among windy spaces.

           Signs are taken for wonders. We would see a sign:

           The word within a word, unable to speak a word,

           Swaddled with darkness. In the juvescence of the year

           Came Christ the tiger

           In depraved May, dogwood and chestnut, flowering Judas,

           To be eaten, to be divided, to be drunk

           Among whispers; by Mr. Silvero

           With caressing hands, at Limoges

           Who walked all night in the next room;

           By Hakagawa, bowing among the Titians;

           By Madame de Tornquist, in the dark room

           Shifting the candles; Fraulein von Kulp

           Who turned in the hall, one hand on the door. Vacant shuttles

           Weave the wind. I have no ghosts,

           An old man in a draughty house

           Under a windy knob.

           After such knowledge, what forgiveness? Think now

           History has many cunning passages, contrived corridors

           And issues, deceives with whispering ambitions,

           Guides us by vanities. Think now

           She gives when our attention is distracted

           And

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