There is shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
Frisch weht der Wind
Der Heimat zu.
Mein Irisch Kind,
Wo weilest du?
-From The Waste Land, T. S. Eliot, 1922.
1 comment:
He really nailed that poem, didn't he?
But it is lucky we have the Four Quartets, or we would have to be very very depressed.
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