The Waste Land by T. S. Eliot with Annotations

Time 2020-10-10 03:03:06

Web Name: The Waste Land by T. S. Eliot with Annotations

WebSite: http://wasteland.windingway.org

ID:76548

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Land,Waste,The,

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Click on headings, locations, characters, or foreign phrases to access descriptions, translations, and other supplementary information, or click blue line numbers to see Eliot's notes. In-text links are unmarked by default but turn blue on mouseover.THE WASTE LANDT. S. Eliot1922 Nam Sibyllam quidem Cumis ego ipse oculis meis vidiin ampulla pendere, et cum illi pueri dicerent: Σίβνλλα τί ϴέλεις; respondebat illa: άπο ϴανεΐν ϴέλω. For Ezra Poundil miglior fabbro.I. The Burial of the DeadApril is the cruellest month, breeding1Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing2Memory and desire, stirring3Dull roots with spring rain.4Winter kept us warm, covering5Earth in forgetful snow, feeding6A little life with dried tubers.7Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee8With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,9And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,10And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.11Bin gar keine Russin, stamm' aus Litauen, echt deutsch.12And when we were children, staying at the archduke's,13My cousin's, he took me out on a sled,14And I was frightened. He said, Marie,15Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.16In the mountains, there you feel free.17I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.18What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow19Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,20You cannot say, or guess, for you know only21A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,22And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,23And the dry stone no sound of water. Only24There is shadow under this red rock,25(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),26And I will show you something different from either27Your shadow at morning striding behind you28Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;29I will show you fear in a handful of dust.30Frisch weht der Wind31Der Heimat zu,32Mein Irisch Kind33Wo weilest du?34 You gave me hyacinths first a year ago,35 They called me the hyacinth girl. 36 Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden,37Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not38Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither39Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,40Looking into the heart of light, the silence.41Oed und leer das Meer.42Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante,43Had a bad cold, nevertheless44Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe,45With a wicked pack of cards. Here, said she,46Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor,47(Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!)48Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks,49The lady of situations.50Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel,51And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card,52Which is blank, is something he carries on his back,53Which I am forbidden to see. I do not find54The Hanged Man. Fear death by water.55I see crowds of people, walking round in a ring.56Thank you. If you see dear Mrs. Equitone,57Tell her I bring the horoscope myself:58One must be so careful these days.59Unreal City,60Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,61A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,62I had not thought death had undone so many.63Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled,64And each man fixed his eyes before his feet.65Flowed up the hill and down King William Street,66To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours67With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine.68There I saw one I knew, and stopped him, crying, Stetson!69 You who were with me in the ships at Mylae!70 That corpse you planted last year in your garden,71 Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?72 Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed?73 Oh keep the Dog far hence, that's friend to men,74 Or with his nails he'll dig it up again!75 You! hypocrite lecteur! mon semblable, mon fr re! 76II. A Game of ChessThe Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne,77Glowed on the marble, where the glass78Held up by standards wrought with fruited vines79From which a golden Cupidon peeped out80(Another hid his eyes behind his wing)81Doubled the flames of sevenbranched candelabra82Reflecting light upon the table as83The glitter of her jewels rose to meet it,84From satin cases poured in rich profusion;85In vials of ivory and coloured glass86Unstoppered, lurked her strange synthetic perfumes,87Unguent, powdered, or liquid troubled, confused88And drowned the sense in odours; stirred by the air89That freshened from the window, these ascended90In fattening the prolonged candle-flames,91Flung their smoke into the laquearia,92Stirring the pattern on the coffered ceiling.93Huge sea-wood fed with copper94Burned green and orange, framed by the coloured stone,95In which sad light a carv d dolphin swam.96Above the antique mantel was displayed97As though a window gave upon the sylvan scene98The change of Philomel, by the barbarous king99So rudely forced; yet there the nightingale100Filled all the desert with inviolable voice101And still she cried, and still the world pursues,102 Jug Jug to dirty ears.103And other withered stumps of time104Were told upon the walls; staring forms105Leaned out, leaning, hushing the room enclosed.106Footsteps shuffled on the stair.107Under the firelight, under the brush, her hair108Spread out in fiery points109Glowed into words, then would be savagely still.110 My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad. Stay with me.111 Speak to me. Why do you never speak? Speak.112 What are you thinking of? What thinking? What?113 I never know what you are thinking. Think. 114I think we are in rats' alley115Where the dead men lost their bones.116 What is that noise? 117The wind under the door.118 What is that noise now? What is the wind doing? 119Nothing again nothing.120 Do121 You know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember122 Nothing? 123I remember124Those are pearls that were his eyes.125 Are you alive, or not? Is there nothing in your head? 126But127O O O O that Shakespeherian rag 128It's so elegant129So intelligent130 What shall I do now? What shall I do? 131 I shall rush out as I am, and walk the street132 With my hair down, so. What shall we do tomorrow?133 What shall we ever do? 134The hot water at ten.135And if it rains, a closed car at four.136And we shall play a game of chess,137Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door.138When Lil's husband got demobbed, I said 139I didn't mince my words, I said to her myself,140Hurry up please its time141Now Albert's coming back, make yourself a bit smart.142He'll want to know what you done with that money he gave you143To get yourself some teeth. He did, I was there.144You have them all out, Lil, and get a nice set,145He said, I swear, I can't bear to look at you.146And no more can't I, I said, and think of poor Albert,147He's been in the army four years, he wants a good time,148And if you don't give it him, there's others will, I said.149Oh is there, she said. Something o' that, I said.150Then I'll know who to thank, she said, and give me a straight look.151Hurry up please its time152If you don't like it you can get on with it, I said.153Others can pick and choose if you can't.154But if Albert makes off, it won't be for lack of telling.155You ought to be ashamed, I said, to look so antique.156(And her only thirty-one.)157I can't help it, she said, pulling a long face,158It's them pills I took, to bring it off, she said.159(She's had five already, and nearly died of young George.)160The chemist said it would be all right, but I've never been the same.161You are a proper fool, I said.162Well, if Albert won't leave you alone, there it is, I said,163What you get married for if you don't want children?164Hurry up please its time165Well, that Sunday Albert was home, they had a hot gammon,166And they asked me in to dinner, to get the beauty of it hot 167Hurry up please its time168Hurry up please its time169Goonight Bill. Goonight Lou. Goonight May. Goonight.170Ta ta. Goonight. Goonight.171Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night.172III. The Fire SermonThe river's tent is broken: the last fingers of leaf173Clutch and sink into the wet bank. The wind174Crosses the brown land, unheard. The nymphs are departed.175Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song.176The river bears no empty bottles, sandwich papers,177Silk handkerchiefs, cardboard boxes, cigarette ends178Or other testimony of summer nights. The nymphs are departed.179And their friends, the loitering heirs of city directors;180Departed, have left no addresses.181By the waters of Leman I sat down and wept...182Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song,183Sweet Thames, run softly, for I speak not loud or long.184But at my back in a cold blast I hear185The rattle of the bones, and chuckle spread from ear to ear.186A rat crept softly through the vegetation187Dragging its slimy belly on the bank188While I was fishing in the dull canal189On a winter evening round behind the gashouse190Musing upon the king my brother's wreck191And on the king my father's death before him.192White bodies naked on the low damp ground193And bones cast in a little low dry garret,194Rattled by the rat's foot only, year to year.195But at my back from time to time I hear196The sound of horns and motors, which shall bring197Sweeney to Mrs. Porter in the spring.198O the moon shone bright on Mrs. Porter199And on her daughter200They wash their feet in soda water201Et O ces voix d'enfants, chantant dans la coupole!202Twit twit twit203Jug jug jug jug jug jug204So rudely forc'd.205Tereu206Unreal City207Under the brown fog of a winter noon208Mr. Eugenides, the Smyrna merchant209Unshaven, with a pocket full of currants210C.i.f. London: documents at sight,211Asked me in demotic French212To luncheon at the Cannon Street Hotel213Followed by a weekend at the Metropole.214At the violet hour, when the eyes and back215Turn upward from the desk, when the human engine waits216Like a taxi throbbing waiting,217I Tiresias, though blind, throbbing between two lives,218Old man with wrinkled female breasts, can see219At the violet hour, the evening hour that strives220Homeward, and brings the sailor home from sea,221The typist home at teatime, clears her breakfast, lights222Her stove, and lays out food in tins.223Out of the window perilously spread224Her drying combinations touched by the sun's last rays,225On the divan are piled (at night her bed)226Stockings, slippers, camisoles, and stays.227I, Tiresias, old man with wrinkled dugs228Perceived the scene, and foretold the rest 229I too awaited the expected guest.230He, the young man carbuncular, arrives,231A small house agent's clerk, with one bold stare,232One of the low on whom assurance sits233As a silk hat on a Bradford millionaire.234The time is now propitious, as he guesses,235The meal is ended, she is bored and tired,236Endeavours to engage her in caresses237Which still are unreproved, if undesired.238Flushed and decided, he assaults at once;239Exploring hands encounter no defense;240His vanity requires no response,241And makes a welcome of indifference.242(And I Tiresias have foresuffered all243Enacted on this same divan or bed;244I who have sat by Thebes below the wall245And walked among the lowest of the dead.)246Bestows one final patronising kiss,247And gropes his way, finding the stairs unlit...248She turns and looks a moment in the glass,249Hardly aware of her departed lover;250Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass:251 Well now that's done: and I'm glad it's over. 252When lovely woman stoops to folly and253Paces about her room again, alone,254She smoothes her hair with automatic hand,255And puts a record on the gramophone.256 This music crept by me upon the waters 257And along the Strand, up Queen Victoria Street.258O City, City, I can sometimes hear259Beside a public bar in Lower Thames Street,260The pleasant whining of a mandoline261And a clatter and a chatter from within262Where fishmen lounge at noon: where the walls263Of Magnus Martyr hold264Inexplicable splendor of Ionian white and gold.265The river sweats266Oil and tar267The barges drift268With the turning tide269Red sails270Wide271To leeward, swing on the heavy spar.272The barges wash273Drifting log274Down Greenwich reach275Past the Isle of Dogs.276Weialala leia277Wallala leialala278Elizabeth and Leicester279Beating oars280The stern was formed281A gilded shell282Red and gold283The brisk swell284Rippled both shores285Southwest wind286Carried down stream287The peal of bells288White towers289Weialala leia290Wallala leialala291 Trams and dusty trees.292Highbury bore me. Richmond and Kew293Undid me. By Richmond I raised my knees294Supine on the floor of a narrow canoe. 295 My feet are at Moorgate, and my heart296Under my feet. After the event297He wept. He promised a new start. 298I made no comment. What should I resent? 299 On Margate Sands.300I can connect301Nothing with nothing.302The broken fingernails of dirty hands.303My people humble who expect304Nothing. 305la la306To Carthage then I came307Burning burning burning burning308O Lord Thou pluckest me out309O Lord Thou pluckest310burning311IV. Death by WaterPhlebas the Phoenician, a fortnight dead,312Forgot the cry of gulls, and the deep sea swell313And the profit and loss.314A current under sea315Picked his bones in whispers. As he rose and fell316He passed the stages of his age and youth317Entering the whirlpool.318Gentile or Jew319O you who turn the wheel and look to windward,320Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you.321V. What the Thunder Said After the torchlight red on sweaty faces322After the frosty silence in the gardens323After the agony in stony places324The shouting and the crying325Prison and palace and reverberation326Of thunder of spring over distant mountains327He who was now living is now dead328We who were living are now dying329With a little patience330Here is no water but only rock331Rock and no water and the sandy road332The road winding above among the mountains333Which are mountains of rock without water334If there were water we should stop and drink335Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think336Sweat is dry and feet are in the sand337If there were only water amongst the rock338Dead mountain mouth of carious teeth that cannot spit339Here one can neither stand nor lie nor sit340There is not even silence in the mountains341But dry sterile thunder without rain342There is not even solitude in the mountains343But red sullen faces sneer and snarl344From doors of mudcracked houses345If there were waterAnd no rock346If there were rock347And also water348And water349A spring350A pool among the rock351If there were the sound of water only352Not the cicada353And dry grass singing354But sound of water over a rock355Where the hermit-thrush sings in the pines trees356Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop357But there is no water358Who is the third who walks always beside you?359When I count, there are only you and I together360But when I look ahead up the white road361There is always another one walking beside you362Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded363I do not know whether a man or a woman364 But who is that on the other side of you?365What is that sound high in the air366Murmur of maternal lamentation367Who are those hooded hordes swarming368Over endless plains, stumbling in cracked earth369Ringed by the flat horizon only370What is the city over the mountains371Cracks and reforms and bursts in the violet air372Falling towers373Jerusalem Athens Alexandria374Vienna London375Unreal376A woman drew her long black hair out tight377And fiddled whisper music on those strings378And bats with baby faces in the violet light379Whistled, and beat their wings380And crawled head downward down a blackened wall381And upside down in air were towers382Tolling reminiscent bells, that kept the hours383And voices singing out of empty cisterns and exhausted wells.384In this decayed hole among the mountains385In the faint moonlight, the grass is singing386Over the tumbled graves, about the chapel387There is the empty chapel, only the wind's home.388It has no windows, and the door swings,389Dry bones can harm no one.390Only a cock stood on the rooftree391Co co rico co co rico392In a flash of lightning. Then a damp gust393Bringing rain394Ganga was sunken, and the limp leaves395Waited for rain, while the black clouds396Gathered far distant, over Himavant.397The jungle crouched, humped in silence.398Then spoke the thunder399Da400Datta: what have we given?401My friend, blood shaking my heart,402The awful daring of a moment's surrender403Which an age of prudence can never retract404By this, and this only, we have existed405Which is not to be found in our obituaries406Or in memories draped by the beneficent spider407Or under seals broken by the lean solicitor408In our empty rooms409Da410Dayadhvam: I have heard the key411Turn in the door once and turn once only412We think of the key, each in his prison413Thinking of the key, each confirms a prison414Only at nightfall, aethereal rumors415Revive for a moment a broken Coriolanus416Da417Damyata: The boat responded418Gaily, to the hand expert with sail and oar419The sea was calm, your heart would have responded420Gaily, when invited, beating obedient421To controlling hands422I sat upon the shore423Fishing, with the arid plain behind me424Shall I at least set my lands in order?425London Bridge is falling down falling down falling down426Poi s'ascose nel foco che gli affina427Quando fiam uti chelidon O swallow swallow428Le Prince d'Aquitaine la tour abolie429These fragments I have shored against my ruins430Why then Ile fit you. Hieronymo's mad againe.431Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.432Shantihshantihshantih433

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Text of The Waste Land by T. S. Eliot with annotations, references, map, and Eliot's notes.

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