1987
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Rhapsody on a Windy Night. By T. S. Eliot. Twelve o'clock. Along the reaches of the street. Held in a lunar synthesis, Whispering lunar incantations. Dissolve the floors of memory. And all its clear relations, Its divisions and precisions, Every street lamp that I pass. Beats like a fatalistic drum, And through the spaces of the dark.
The 1948 winner of the Nobel Prize in Literature, T.S. Eliot is highly distinguished as a poet, a literary critic, a dramatist, an editor, and a publisher. In 1910 and 1911, while still a college student, he wrote “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,”...
Wipe your hand across your mouth, and laugh; The worlds revolve like ancient women. Gathering fuel in vacant lots. T. S. Eliot, "Preludes" from Collected Poems: 1909-1962. Copyright © 2020 by T. S. Eliot. Reprinted by permission of Faber and Faber, Ltd..
From The Waste Land (Boni & Liveright, 1922) by T.S. Eliot. This poem is in the public domain. The Waste Land - April is the cruellest month, breeding / Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing / Memory and desire, stirring / Dull roots with spring rain.
By T. S. Eliot. Thou hast committed— Fornication: but that was in another country, And besides, the wench is dead. The Jew of Malta. I. Among the smoke and fog of a December afternoon. You have the scene arrange itself — as it will seem to do— With 'I have saved this afternoon for you'; And four wax candles in the darkened room,
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only. 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.
The Waste Land is a poem by T. S. Eliot, widely regarded as one of the most important English language poems of the 20th century and a central work of modernist poetry.
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