The Waste Land | Page 3

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ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END*
THE WASTE LAND
"Nam Sibyllam quidem Cumis ego ipse oculis meis
vidi in ampulla
pendere, et cum illi pueri dicerent:
Sibylla ti theleis; respondebat illa:
apothanein thelo."
I. THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD
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
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,
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,
(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;
"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,
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.
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.
Unreal City, 60 Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,
A crowd
flowed over London Bridge, so many,
I had not thought death had
undone so many.
Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled,
And
each man fixed his eyes before his feet.
Flowed up the hill and down
King William Street,
To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours

With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine.
There I saw one I
knew, and stopped him, crying "Stetson!
"You who were with me in
the ships at Mylae! 70 "That corpse you planted last year in your
garden,
"Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?
"Or has

the sudden frost disturbed its bed?
Line 42 Od'] Oed' - Editor.
"Oh keep the Dog far hence, that's friend to men,
"Or with his nails
he'll dig it up again!
"You! hypocrite lecteur! - mon semblable, - mon
frere!"
II. A GAME OF CHESS
The Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne,
Glowed on the marble,
where the glass
Held up by standards wrought with fruited vines

From which a golden Cupidon peeped out 80 (Another hid his eyes
behind his wing)
Doubled the flames of sevenbranched candelabra

Reflecting light upon the table as
The glitter of her jewels rose to
meet it,
From satin cases poured in rich profusion;
In vials of ivory
and coloured glass
Unstoppered, lurked her strange synthetic
perfumes,
Unguent, powdered, or liquid - troubled, confused
And
drowned the sense in odours; stirred by the air
That freshened from
the window, these ascended 90 In fattening the prolonged
candle-flames,
Flung their smoke into the laquearia,
Stirring the
pattern on the coffered ceiling.
Huge sea-wood fed with copper

Burned green and