April is the cruelest 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
What are the roots that clutch
What branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish?
Son of man you cannot say or guess
For you know only A heap of broken images,
Where the sun beats and the dead tree gives no shelter
The cricket no relief
And the dry stone no sound of water
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.
Unreal City
I think we are in rat's alley
Where the dead men lost their bones.
What is that noise?
Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies good night
But at my back in a cold blast I hear
The rattle of the bones and chuckle spread from ear to ear
By the waters of Leman I sat down and wept
Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song,
Sweet Thames, run softly, for I speak not loud or long.