The+Love+Song+Of+J.+Alfred+Prufrock+-+By+T.S.+Eliot

. . . . . . . . || || . . . . . . . . ||  || . . . . . . . . ||  //110// ||
 * 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 || //5// ||
 * 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…. || //10// ||
 * 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, || //15// ||
 * 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, || //20// ||
 * 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; || //25// ||
 * 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; || //30// ||
 * 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 || //35// ||
 * 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— || //40// ||
 * (They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”) || ||
 * My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin, || ||
 * My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin— || ||
 * (They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”) || ||
 * Do I dare || //45// ||
 * Disturb the universe? || ||
 * In a minute there is time || ||
 * For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse. || ||
 * For I have known them all already, known them all: || ||
 * Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons, || //50// ||
 * I have measured out my life with coffee spoons; || ||
 * I know the voices dying with a dying fall || ||
 * Beneath the music from a farther room. || ||
 * So how should I presume? || ||
 * And I have known the eyes already, known them all— || //55// ||
 * The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase, || ||
 * And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin, || ||
 * When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall, || ||
 * Then how should I begin || ||
 * To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways? || //60// ||
 * And how should I presume? || ||
 * And I have known the arms already, known them all— || ||
 * Arms that are braceleted and white and bare || ||
 * (But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!) || ||
 * Is it perfume from a dress || //65// ||
 * That makes me so digress? || ||
 * Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl. || ||
 * And should I then presume? || ||
 * And how should I begin?
 * And I have known the arms already, known them all— || ||
 * Arms that are braceleted and white and bare || ||
 * (But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!) || ||
 * Is it perfume from a dress || //65// ||
 * That makes me so digress? || ||
 * Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl. || ||
 * And should I then presume? || ||
 * And how should I begin?
 * Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets || //70// ||
 * And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes || ||
 * Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?… || ||
 * I should have been a pair of ragged claws || ||
 * Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
 * Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
 * And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully! || //75// ||
 * Smoothed by long fingers, || ||
 * Asleep … tired … or it malingers, || ||
 * Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me. || ||
 * Should I, after tea and cakes and ices, || ||
 * Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis? || //80// ||
 * But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed, || ||
 * Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter, || ||
 * I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter; || ||
 * I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker, || ||
 * And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker, || //85// ||
 * And in short, I was afraid. || ||
 * And would it have been worth it, after all, || ||
 * After the cups, the marmalade, the tea, || ||
 * Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me, || ||
 * Would it have been worth while, || //90// ||
 * To have bitten off the matter with a smile, || ||
 * To have squeezed the universe into a ball || ||
 * To roll it toward some overwhelming question, || ||
 * To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead, || ||
 * Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”— || //95// ||
 * If one, settling a pillow by her head, || ||
 * Should say: “That is not what I meant at all; || ||
 * That is not it, at all.” || ||
 * And would it have been worth it, after all, || ||
 * Would it have been worth while, || //100// ||
 * After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets, || ||
 * After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor— || ||
 * And this, and so much more?— || ||
 * It is impossible to say just what I mean! || ||
 * But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen: || //105// ||
 * Would it have been worth while || ||
 * If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl, || ||
 * And turning toward the window, should say: || ||
 * “That is not it at all, || ||
 * That is not what I meant, at all.”
 * “That is not it at all, || ||
 * That is not what I meant, at all.”
 * No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be; || ||
 * Am an attendant lord, one that will do || ||
 * To swell a progress, start a scene or two, || ||
 * Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool, || ||
 * Deferential, glad to be of use, || //115// ||
 * Politic, cautious, and meticulous; || ||
 * Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse; || ||
 * At times, indeed, almost ridiculous— || ||
 * Almost, at times, the Fool. || ||
 * I grow old … I grow old … || //120// ||
 * I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled. || ||
 * Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach? || ||
 * I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach. || ||
 * I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each. || ||
 * I do not think that they will sing to me. || //125// ||
 * I have seen them riding seaward on the waves || ||
 * Combing the white hair of the waves blown back || ||
 * When the wind blows the water white and black. || ||
 * We have lingered in the chambers of the sea || ||
 * By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown || //130// ||
 * Till human voices wake us, and we drown. ||
 * When the wind blows the water white and black. || ||
 * We have lingered in the chambers of the sea || ||
 * By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown || //130// ||
 * Till human voices wake us, and we drown. ||
 * Till human voices wake us, and we drown. ||