The Waste Land HTML version

wicked pack of cards. Here, said she,Is your card, the drowned
Phoenician Sailor,(Those are pearls that were his eyes.
Look!)Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks,The lady of
situations. 50Here is the man with three staves, and here the
Wheel,And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card,Which is
blank, is something he carries on his back,Which I am forbidden to
see. I do not findThe Hanged Man. Fear death by water.I see
crowds of people, walking round in a ring.Thank you. If you see
dear Mrs. Equitone,Tell her I bring the horoscope myself:One
must be so careful these days.
Unreal City, 60Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,A crowd
flowed over London Bridge, so many,I had not thought death had
undone so many.Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled,And
each man fixed his eyes before his feet.Flowed up the hill and down
King William Street,To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the
hoursWith a dead sound on the final stroke of nine.There I saw
one I knew, and stopped him, crying "Stetson!"You who were with
me in the ships at Mylae! 70"That corpse you planted last year in
your garden,"Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?"Or
has the sudden frost disturbed its bed?
Line 42 Od'] Oed' - Editor.
"Oh keep the Dog far hence, that's friend to men,"Or with his nails
he'll dig it up again!"You! hypocrite lecteur! - mon semblable, - mon
The Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne,Glowed on the marble,
where the glassHeld up by standards wrought with fruited
vinesFrom which a golden Cupidon peeped out 80(Another hid his
eyes behind his wing)Doubled the flames of sevenbranched
candelabraReflecting light upon the table asThe glitter of her
jewels rose to meet it,From satin cases poured in rich profusion;In
vials of ivory and coloured glassUnstoppered, lurked her strange
synthetic perfumes,Unguent, powdered, or liquid - troubled,
confusedAnd drowned the sense in odours; stirred by the airThat
freshened from the window, these ascended 90In fattening the