T. S. Eliot
I
Because I do
not hope to turn again
Because I do
not hope
Because I do
not hope to turn
Desiring
this man’s gift and that man’s scope
I no longer
strive to strive towards such things
(Why should
the agèd eagle stretch its wings?)
Why should I
mourn
The vanished
power of the usual reign?
Because I do
not hope to know
The infirm
glory of the positive hour
Because I do
not think
Because I
know I shall not know
The one
veritable transitory power
Because I
cannot drink
There, where
trees flower, and springs flow, for there is
nothing again
Because I
know that time is always time
And place is
always and only place
And what is
actual is actual only for one time
And only for
one place
I rejoice
that things are as they are and
I renounce
the blessèd face
And renounce
the voice
Because I
cannot hope to turn again
Consequently
I rejoice, having to construct something
Upon which
to rejoice
And pray to
God to have mercy upon us
And pray
that I may forget
These
matters that with myself I too much discuss
Too much
explain
Because I do
not hope to turn again
Let these
words answer
For what is
done, not to be done again
May the
judgement not be too heavy upon us
Because
these wings are no longer wings to fly
But merely
vans to beat the air
The air
which is now thoroughly small and dry
Smaller and
dryer than the will
Teach us to
care and not to care Teach us to sit still.
Pray for us
sinners now and at the hour of our death
Pray for us
now and at the hour of our death.
II
Lady, three
white leopards sat under a juniper-tree
In the cool
of the day, having fed to sateity
On my legs
my heart my liver and that which had been contained
In the
hollow round of my skull. And God said
Shall these
bones live? shall these
Bones live?
And that which had been contained
In the bones
(which were already dry) said chirping:
Because of
the goodness of this Lady
And because
of her loveliness, and because
She honours
the Virgin in meditation,
We shine
with brightness. And I who am here dissembled
Proffer my
deeds to oblivion, and my love
To the
posterity of the desert and the fruit of the gourd.
It is this
which recovers
My guts the
strings of my eyes and the indigestible portions
Which the
leopards reject. The Lady is withdrawn
In a white
gown, to contemplation, in a white gown.
Let the
whiteness of bones atone to forgetfulness.
There is no
life in them. As I am forgotten
And would be
forgotten, so I would forget
Thus
devoted, concentrated in purpose. And God said
Prophesy to
the wind, to the wind only for only
The wind
will listen. And the bones sang chirping
With the
burden of the grasshopper, saying
Lady of
silences
Calm and
distressed
Torn and
most whole
Rose of
memory
Rose of
forgetfulness
Exhausted
and life-giving
Worried
reposeful
The single
Rose
Is now the
Garden
Where all
loves end
Terminate
torment
Of love
unsatisfied
The greater
torment
Of love
satisfied
End of the
endless
Journey to
no end
Conclusion
of all that
Is
inconclusible
Speech
without word and
Word of no
speech
Grace to the
Mother
For the
Garden
Where all
love ends.
Under a
juniper-tree the bones sang, scattered and shining
We are glad
to be scattered, we did little good to each other,
Under a tree
in the cool of day, with the blessing of sand,
Forgetting
themselves and each other, united
In the quiet
of the desert. This is the land which ye
Shall divide
by lot. And neither division nor unity
Matters.
This is the land. We have our inheritance.
III
At the first
turning of the second stair
I turned and
saw below
The same
shape twisted on the banister
Under the
vapour in the fetid air
Struggling
with the devil of the stairs who wears
The deceitul
face of hope and of despair.
At the
second turning of the second stair
I left them
twisting, turning below;
There were
no more faces and the stair was dark,
Damp,
jaggèd, like an old man’s mouth drivelling, beyond repair,
Or the
toothed gullet of an agèd shark.
At the first
turning of the third stair
Was a
slotted window bellied like the figs’s fruit
And beyond
the hawthorn blossom and a pasture scene
The
broadbacked figure drest in blue and green
Enchanted
the maytime with an antique flute.
Blown hair
is sweet, brown hair over the mouth blown,
Lilac and
brown hair;
Distraction,
music of the flute, stops and steps of the mind
over the
third stair,
Fading,
fading; strength beyond hope and despair
Climbing the
third stair.
Lord, I am
not worthy
Lord, I am
not worthy
but speak the
word only.
IV
Who walked
between the violet and the violet
Whe walked
between
The various
ranks of varied green
Going in
white and blue, in Mary’s colour,
Talking of
trivial things
In ignorance
and knowledge of eternal dolour
Who moved
among the others as they walked,
Who then
made strong the fountains and made fresh the springs
Made cool
the dry rock and made firm the sand
In blue of
larkspur, blue of Mary’s colour,
Sovegna vos
Here are the
years that walk between, bearing
Away the
fiddles and the flutes, restoring
One who
moves in the time between sleep and waking, wearing
White light
folded, sheathing about her, folded.
The new
years walk, restoring
Through a
bright cloud of tears, the years, restoring
With a new
verse the ancient rhyme. Redeem
The time.
Redeem
The unread
vision in the higher dream
While
jewelled unicorns draw by the gilded hearse.
The silent
sister veiled in white and blue
Between the
yews, behind the garden god,
Whose flute
is breathless, bent her head and signed but spoke
no word
But the fountain
sprang up and the bird sang down
Redeem the
time, redeem the dream
The token of
the word unheard, unspoken
Till the
wind shake a thousand whispers from the yew
And after
this our exile
V
If the lost
word is lost, if the spent word is spent
If the
unheard, unspoken
Word is
unspoken, unheard;
Still is the
unspoken word, the Word unheard,
The Word
without a word, the Word within
The world
and for the world;
And the
light shone in darkness and
Against the
Word the unstilled world still whirled
About the
centre of the silent Word.
O my people, what have I done unto thee.
Where shall
the word be found, where will the word
Resound? Not
here, there is not enough silence
Not on the
sea or on the islands, not
On the
mainland, in the desert or the rain land,
For those
who walk in darkness
Both in the
day time and in the night time
The right
time and the right place are not here
No place of
grace for those who avoid the face
No time to
rejoice for those who walk among noise and
deny the voice
Will the
veiled sister pray for
Those who
walk in darkness, who chose thee and oppose thee,
Those who
are torn on the horn between season and season,
time and time, between
Hour and
hour, word and word, power and power, those who wait
In darkness?
Will the veiled sister pray
For children
at the gate
Who will not
go away and cannot pray:
Pray for
those who chose and oppose
O my people, what have I done unto thee.
Will the
veiled sister between the slender
Yew trees
pray for those who offend her
And are
terrified and cannot surrender
And affirm
before the world and deny between the rocks
In the last
desert before the last blue rocks
The desert
in the garden the garden in the desert
Of drouth,
spitting from the mouth the withered apple-seed.
O my people.
VI
Although I
do not hope to turn again
Although I
do not hope
Although I
do not hope to turn
Wavering
between the profit and the loss
In this
brief transit where the dreams cross
The
dreamcrossed twilight between birth and dying
(Bless me
father) though I do not wish to wish these things
From the
wide window towards the granite shore
The white
sails still fly seaward, seaward flying
Unbroken
wings
And the lost
heart stiffens and rejoices
In the lost
lilac and the lost sea voices
And the weak
spirit quickens to rebel
For the bent
golden-rod and the lost sea smell
Quickens to
recover
The cry of
quail and the whirling plover
And the
blind eye creates
The empty
forms between the ivory gates
And smell
renews the salt savour of the sandy earth
This is the
time of tension between dying and birth
The place of
solitude where three dreams cross
Between blue
rocks
But when the
voices shaken from the yew-tree drift away
Let the
other yew be shaken and reply.
Blessèd
sister, holy mother, spirit of the fountain, spirit
of the garden,
Suffer us
not to mock ourselves with falsehood
Teach us to
care and not to care
Teach us to
sit still
Even among
these rocks,
Our peace in
His will
And even
among these rocks
Sister,
mother
And spirit
of the river, spirit of the sea,
Suffer me
not to be separated
And let my
cry come unto Thee.
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