The Waste Land / T. S. Eliot

I. THE BURIAL OF THE DEADApril is the cruellest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain. Winter kept us warm, covering Earth in forgetful snow, feeding A little life with dried tubers. Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade, And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten, 10 And drank coffee, and talked for an hour. Bin gar keine Russin, stamm' aus Litauen, echt deutsch.

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock / T. S. Eliot

S'io credesse che mia risposta fosse

A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,

Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.

Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo

Non torno vivo alcun, s'i'odo il vero,

Senza tema d'infamia ti rispondo.

Let us go then, you and I,

When the evening is spread out against the sky

Like a patient etherized upon a table;

Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,

Ezra Pound: His Metric and Poetry / T. S. Eliot

I

"All talk on modern poetry, by people who know," wrote Mr. Carl Sandburg in Poetry, "ends with dragging in Ezra Pound somewhere. He may be named only to be cursed as wanton and mocker, poseur, trifler and vagrant. Or he may be classed as filling a niche today like that of Keats in a preceding epoch. The point is, he will be mentioned."

Eeldrop and Appleplex / T. S. Eliot

Eeldrop and Appleplex rented two small rooms in a disreputable part of

town. Here they sometimes came at nightfall, here they sometimes

slept, and after they had slept, they cooked oatmeal and departed in

the morning for destinations unknown to each other. They sometimes

slept, more often they talked, or looked out of the window.

They had chosen the rooms and the neighborhood with great care. There

are evil neighborhoods of noise and evil neighborhoods of silence, and

Eeldrop and Appleplex preferred the latter, as being the more evil.