Categorie archief: T.S. Eliot

Morning at the Window (T.S. Eliot)

They are rattling breakfast plates in basement kitchens, And along the trampled edges of the street I am aware of the damp souls of housemaids Sprouting despondently at area gates. The brown waves of fog toss up to me Twisted … Lees verder

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The waste land (T.S. Eliot)

                                            I. THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, … Lees verder

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Journey of the Magi (T.S. Eliot)

‘A cold coming we had of it, Just the worst time of the year For a journey, and such a long journey: The ways deep and the weather sharp, The very dead of winter.’ And the camels galled, sore-footed, refractory, … Lees verder

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