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The Waste Land, Prufrock and Other Poems
The Waste Land, Prufrock and Other Poems
The Waste Land, Prufrock and Other Poems
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The Waste Land, Prufrock and Other Poems

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"The Waste Land, Prufrock, and Other Poems" is a collection of T. S. Eliot's early poetry. This collection brings together "The Waste Land," arguably T. S. Eliot's most famous poem, with the poetry originally published in "Prufrock and Other Observations" and "Poems (1920)." This collection of 25 poems in all will provide even the most serious of poetry readers with ample evidence of the genius of T. S. Eliot's work.
LanguageEnglish
Release dateJan 1, 2010
ISBN9781420903959
The Waste Land, Prufrock and Other Poems
Author

T. S. Eliot

THOMAS STEARNS ELIOT was born in St Louis, Missouri, in 1888. He moved to England in 1914 and published his first book of poems in 1917. He received the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1948. Eliot died in 1965.

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    The Waste Land, Prufrock and Other Poems - T. S. Eliot

    THE WASTE LAND, PRUFROCK

    AND OTHER POEMS

    BY T. S. ELIOT

    A Digireads.com Book

    Digireads.com Publishing

    Print ISBN 13: 978-1-4209-2578-4

    Ebook ISBN 13: 978-1-4209-0395-9

    This edition copyright © 2012

    Please visit www.digireads.com

    To Jean Verdenal 1889-1915

    CONTENTS

    PRUFROCK AND OTHER OBSERVATIONS (1917)

    The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

    Portrait of a Lady

    Preludes

    Rhapsody on a Windy Night

    Morning at the Window

    The Boston Evening Transcript

    Aunt Helen

    Cousin Nancy

    Mr. Apollinax

    Hysteria

    Conversation Galante

    La Figlia Che Piange

    POEMS (1920)

    Gerontion

    Burbank with a Baedeker: Bleistein with a Cigar

    Sweeney Erect

    A Cooking Egg

    Le Directeur

    Mélange adultère de tout

    Lune de Miel

    The Hippopotamus

    Dans le Restaurant

    Whispers of Immortality

    Mr. Eliot's Sunday Morning Service

    Sweeney Among the Nightingales

    THE WASTE LAND (1922)

    PRUFROCK AND OTHER OBSERVATIONS (1917)

    The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

    S'io credesse che mia risposta fosse

    A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,

    Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.

    Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo

    Non torno vivo alcun, s'i'odo il vero,

    Senza tema d'infamia ti rispondo.

    Let us go then, you and I,

    When the evening is spread out against the sky

    Like a patient etherized upon a table;

    Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,

    The muttering retreats

    Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels

    And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:

    Streets that follow like a tedious argument

    Of insidious intent

    To lead you to an overwhelming question...

    Oh, do not ask, What is it?

    Let us go and make our visit.

    In the room the women come and go

    Talking of Michelangelo.

    The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,

    The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes,

    Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,

    Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,

    Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,

    Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,

    And seeing that it was a soft October night,

    Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

    And indeed there will be time

    For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,

    Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;

    There will be time, there will be time

    To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;

    There will be time to murder and create,

    And time for all the works and days of hands

    That lift and drop a question on your plate;

    Time for you and time for me,

    And time yet for a hundred indecisions,

    And for a hundred visions and revisions,

    Before the taking of a toast and tea.

    In the room the women come and go

    Talking of Michelangelo.

    And indeed there will be time

    To wonder, Do I dare? and, Do I dare?

    Time to turn back and descend the stair,

    With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—

    (They will say: "How his hair

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