Let us go then, you and I, When the evening is against the sky Like a patient upon a table; Let us go, through half-deserted streets, The muttering Of nights in cheap hotels And sawdust with oyster-shells: Streets that like a tedious intent lead an overwhelming question ... "What is it?" our visit. the women of Michelangelo. The yellow fog the window-panes, The yellow smoke the window-panes, Licked its tongue into the evening, Lingered in drains, Let fall the soot from chimneys, Slipped by a sudden leap, it was a soft October night, Curled and fell asleep. And indeed the yellow smoke along the street, the window-panes; There will be there will be a face to meet the faces There will be murder and for all the hands That drop a plate; for you and for me, And yet for indecisions, for visions and revisions, taking toast and tea. In the room of Michelangelo. indeed there will be "Do I dare?" and turn back the stair, a spot in my hair-- his hair My coat, my chin, My necktie a simple pin-- his arms are thin! dare the universe In a minute will reverse. For I have known , known them all: the evenings, afternoons, I have my life with coffee spoons; I know the fall from a farther room. So how should I have known the eyes known The eyes sprawling on a pin, pinned on the wall, how should I spit out my days And how should I have known the arms known them all-- white and bare with light brown hair! Is it a dress That makes me digress? Arms that lie along or wrap about And should I ? And how should I ? * * * * I have gone at dusk And watched the smoke Of lonely men I should have claws Scuttling across the floors * * * * the afternoon, the evening, sleeps Smoothed by fingers, Asleep it malingers, Stretched here beside you Should I, after ices, force the moment to its crisis? I have wept and wept and seen my head I am no great matter; I have seen my greatness flicker, And the eternal Footman snicker, And I was afraid. And would it have been after all, After the tea, Among the porcelain and me, worth while, To have bitten with a smile, To have squeezed into a ball some overwhelming question, To say: "I am Lazarus, Come back to tell you all, If her head, Should say: "That is not what I meant at all." And would it have been worth while, the sunsets the dooryards the streets, the novels, the teacups, the skirts and more?-- what I mean threw patterns on a screen: Would it worth while If one, settling a shawl, And turning should say: "That is not what I meant, at all." * * * * Prince Hamlet was meant to be that will do swell a progress, a scene or two, no tool, glad to be Politic and meticulous Full of high sentence almost ridiculous-- Almost I grow old I wear my trousers rolled. Shall I part my hair ? Do I dare ? I shall upon the beach the mermaids singing, each to each. do not they sing to me. them riding the waves Combing the waves wind blows the water We lingered in the sea By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, by T.S Eliot