| 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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