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    The Waste Land
    The Waste Land
    The Waste Land
    Ebook28 pages19 minutes

    The Waste Land

    By T. S. Eliot

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    About this ebook

    One of the greatest poems in the English language.

    The Waste Land is T.S. Eliot's masterpiece, a beautiful examination of themes of decay and despair. Like many of his works, it alludes frequently to famous pieces of literature and legend, in this case most prominently to the legends of the Holy Grail and the Fisher King.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherQasim Idrees
    Release dateFeb 28, 2018
    ISBN9788826001531
    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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      Book preview

      The Waste Land - T. S. Eliot

      The Waste Land

      T. S. Eliot

      .

      I. THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD

        April is the cruellest month, breeding

        Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing

        Memory and desire, stirring

        Dull roots with spring rain.

        Winter kept us warm, covering

        Earth in forgetful snow, feeding

        A little life with dried tubers.

        Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee

        With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,

        And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,                            10

        And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.

        Bin gar keine Russin, stamm' aus Litauen, echt deutsch.

        And when we were children, staying at the archduke's,

        My cousin's, he took me out on a sled,

        And I was frightened. He said, Marie,

        Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.

        In the mountains, there you feel free.

        I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.

        What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow

        Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,                                  20

        You cannot say, or guess, for you know only

        A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,

        And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,

        And the dry stone no sound of water. Only

        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

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