All is well that begins well (Great beginnings)

April is the cruelest month, breeding

Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing

Memory and desire, stirring

Dull roots with spring rain

(“The Burial of the Dead”)

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Here I am, an old man in a dry month,

Being read to by a boy, waiting for rain.

(“Gerontion”)

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Let us go then, you and I,

When the evening is spread out against the sky

Like a patient etherized upon a table;

(“The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock”)

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The river’s tent is broken: the last fingers of leaf

Clutch and sink into the wet bank. The wind

Crosses the brown land, unheard. The nymphs are

departed.

(“The Fire Sermon”)

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We are the hollow men

We are the stuffed men

Leaning together

Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!

(“The Hollow Men”)

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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

(“Ash-Wednesday”)

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