Ganga was sunken, and the limp leaves | |
Waited for rain, while the black clouds | |
Gathered far distant, over Himavant. | |
The jungle crouched, humped in silence. | |
Then spoke the thunder | |
D A | |
Datta: what have we given? | |
My friend, blood shaking my heart | |
The awful daring of a moment's surrender | |
Which an age of prudence can never retract | |
By this, and this only, we have existed | |
Which is not to be found in our obituaries | |
Or in memories draped by the beneficent spider | |
Or under seals broken by the lean solicitor | |
In our empty rooms | |
D A | |
Dayadhvam: I have heard the key | |
Turn in the door once and turn once only | |
We think of the key, each in his prison | |
Thinking of the key, each confirms a prison | |
Only at nightfall, aetherial rumours | |
Revive for a moment a broken Coriolanus | |
D A | |
Damyata: The boat responded | |
Gaily, to the hand expert with sail and oar | |
The sea was calm, your heart would have responded | |
Gaily, when invited, beating obedient | |
To controlling hands | |
|
I sat upon the shore | |
Fishing, with the arid plain behind me | |
Shall I at least set my lands in order? |
1 Comments:
interesting blog. i stumbled upon it when i was searching for the full text of the wasteland. good choice in the portion you quoted- some of my favourite poetry ever.
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