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III. THE FIRE SERMON
The river's tent is broken: the last fingers of leaf
|-1||Clutch and sink into the wet bank. The wind||0||Crosses the brown land, unheard. The nymphs are departed.||1||Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song.||2||The river bears no empty bottles, sandwich papers,||3||Silk handkerchiefs, cardboard boxes, cigarette ends||4||Or other testimony of summer nights. The nymphs are departed.||5||And their friends, the loitering heirs of city directors;||6||Departed, have left no addresses.||7|
By the waters of Leman I sat down and wept . . .
|8||Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song,||9||Sweet Thames, run softly, for I speak not loud or long.||10||But at my back in a cold blast I hear||11||The rattle of the bones, and chuckle spread from ear to ear.||12||A rat crept softly through the vegetation||13||Dragging its slimy belly on the bank||14||While I was fishing in the dull canal||15||On a winter evening round behind the gashouse||16||Musing upon the king my brother's wreck||17||And on the king my father's death before him.||18||White bodies naked on the low damp ground||19||And bones cast in a little low dry garret,||20||Rattled by the rat's foot only, year to year.||21||But at my back from time to time I hear||22||The sound of horns and motors, which shall bring||23||Sweeney to Mrs. Porter in the spring.||24||O the moon shone bright on Mrs. Porter||25||And on her daughter||26||They wash their feet in soda water||27||Et O ces voix d'enfants, chantant dans la coupole!
Twit twit twit
|29||Jug jug jug jug jug jug||30||So rudely forc'd.||31||Tereu
|33||Under the brown fog of a winter noon||34||Mr. Eugenides, the Smyrna merchant||35||Unshaven, with a pocket full of currants||36||C.i.f. London: documents at sight,||37||Asked me in demotic French||38||To luncheon at the Cannon Street Hotel||39||Followed by a weekend at the Metropole.
At the violet hour, when the eyes and back
|41||Turn upward from the desk, when the human engine waits||42||Like a taxi throbbing waiting,||43||I Tiresias, though blind, throbbing between two lives,||44||Old man with wrinkled female breasts, can see||45||At the violet hour, the evening hour that strives||46||Homeward, and brings the sailor home from sea,||47||The typist home at teatime, clears her breakfast, lights||48||Her stove, and lays out food in tins.||49||Out of the window perilously spread||50||Her drying combinations touched by the sun's last rays,||51||On the divan are piled (at night her bed)||52||Stockings, slippers, camisoles, and stays.||53||I Tiresias, old man with wrinkled dugs||54||Perceived the scene, and foretold the rest -||55||I too awaited the expected guest.||56||He, the young man carbuncular, arrives,||57||A small house agent's clerk, with one bold stare,||58||One of the low on whom assurance sits||59||As a silk hat on a Bradford millionaire.||60||The time is now propitious, as he guesses,||61||The meal is ended, she is bored and tired,||62||Endeavours to engage her in caresses||63||Which still are unreproved, if undesired.||64||Flushed and decided, he assaults at once;||65||Exploring hands encounter no defence;||66||His vanity requires no response,||67||And makes a welcome of indifference.||68||(And I Tiresias have foresuffered all||69||Enacted on this same divan or bed;||70||I who have sat by Thebes below the wall||71||And walked among the lowest of the dead.)||72||Bestows one final patronising kiss,||73||And gropes his way, finding the stairs unlit . . .
She turns and looks a moment in the glass,
|75||Hardly aware of her departed lover;||76||Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass:||77||"Well now that's done: and I'm glad it's over."||78||When lovely woman stoops to folly and||79||Paces about her room again, alone,||80||She smoothes her hair with automatic hand,||81||And puts a record on the gramophone.
"This music crept by me upon the waters"
|83||And along the Strand, up Queen Victoria Street.||84||O City city, I can sometimes hear||85||Beside a public bar in Lower Thames Street,||86||The pleasant whining of a mandoline||87||And a clatter and a chatter from within||88||Where fishmen lounge at noon: where the walls||89||Of Magnus Martyr hold||90||Inexplicable splendour of Ionian white and gold.
The river sweats
|92|| Oil and tar||93|| The barges drift||94|| With the turning tide||95|| Red sails||96|| Wide||97|| To leeward, swing on the heavy spar.||98|| The barges wash||99|| Drifting logs||100|| Down Greenwich reach||101|| Past the Isle of Dogs.||102|| Weialala leia||103|| Wallala leialala
Elizabeth and Leicester
|105|| Beating oars||106|| The stern was formed||107|| A gilded shell||108|| Red and gold||109|| The brisk swell||110|| Rippled both shores||111|| Southwest wind||112|| Carried down stream||113|| The peal of bells||114|| White towers||115|| Weialala leia ||116|| Wallala leialala
"Trams and dusty trees.
|118||Highbury bore me. Richmond and Kew||119||Undid me. By Richmond I raised my knees||120||Supine on the floor of a narrow canoe."
"My feet are at Moorgate, and my heart
|122||Under my feet. After the event||123||He wept. He promised 'a new start'.||124||I made no comment. What should I resent?"||125||"On Margate Sands. ||126||I can connect||127||Nothing with nothing.||128||The broken fingernails of dirty hands.||129||My people humble people who expect||130||Nothing."||131|| la la
To Carthage then I came
Burning burning burning burning
|134||O Lord Thou pluckest me out||135||O Lord Thou pluckest
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