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. | |
| Winter kept us warm, covering | 5 |
| 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. | |
| And when we were children, staying at the archduke's, | |
| My cousin's, he took me out on a sled, | |
| And I was frightened. He said, Marie, | 15 |
| Marie, hold on tight. And down we went. | |
| In the mountains, there you feel free. | |
| I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter. | |
| What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow | |
| Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man, | 20 |
| 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. Only | |
| There is shadow under this red rock, | 25 |
| (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. | 30 |
| Frisch weht der Wind | |
| Der Heimat zu. | |
| Mein Irisch Kind, | |
| Wo weilest du? | |
| 'You gave me hyacinths first a year ago; | 35 |
| 'They called me the hyacinth girl.' | |
| —Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden, | |
| Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not | |
| Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither | |
| Living nor dead, and I knew nothing, | 40 |
| Looking into the heart of light, the silence. | |
| Od' und leer das Meer. | |
| Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante, | |
| Had a bad cold, nevertheless | |
| Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe, | 45 |
| With a wicked pack of cards. Here, said she, | |
| Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor, | |
| (Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!) | |
| Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks, | |
| The lady of situations. | 50 |
| Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel, | |
| And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card, | |
| Which is blank, is something he carries on his back, | |
| Which I am forbidden to see. I do not find | |
| The Hanged Man. Fear death by water. | 55 |
| I see crowds of people, walking round in a ring. | |
| Thank you. If you see dear Mrs. Equitone, | |
| Tell her I bring the horoscope myself: | |
| One must be so careful these days. | |
...the rest can be found at http://www.bartleby.com/201/1.html |
