Read Ebook: Poems by Eliot T S Thomas Stearns

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Ebook has 180 lines and 14479 words, and 4 pages

Lune de Miel

Ils ont vu les Pays-Bas, ils rentrent ? Terre Haute; Mais une nuit d'?t?, les voici ? Ravenne, A l'sur le dos ?cartant les genoux De quatre jambes molles tout gonfl?es de morsures. On rel?ve le drap pour mieux ?gratigner. Moins d'une lieue d'ici est Saint Apollinaire In Classe, basilique connue des amateurs De chapitaux d'acanthe que touraoie le vent.

Ils vont prendre le train de huit heures Prolonger leurs mis?res de Padoue ? Milan Ou se trouvent le C?ne, et un restaurant pas cher. Lui pense aux pourboires, et redige son bilan. Ils auront vu la Suisse et travers? la France. Et Saint Apollinaire, raide et asc?tique, Vieille usine d?saffect?e de Dieu, tient encore Dans ses pierres ?croulantes la forme precise de Byzance.

The Hippopotamus

Similiter et omnes revereantur Diaconos, ut mandatum Jesu Christi; et Episcopum, ut Jesum Christum, existentem filium Patris; Presbyteros autem, ut concilium Dei et conjunctionem Apostolorum. Sine his Ecclesia non vocatur; de quibus suadeo vos sic habeo.

S. IGNATII AD TRALLIANOS.

And when this epistle is read among you, cause that it be read also in the church of the Laodiceans.

The broad-backed hippopotamus Rests on his belly in the mud; Although he seems so firm to us He is merely flesh and blood.

Flesh-and-blood is weak and frail, Susceptible to nervous shock; While the True Church can never fail For it is based upon a rock.

The hippo's feeble steps may err In compassing material ends, While the True Church need never stir To gather in its dividends.

The 'potamus can never reach The mango on the mango-tree; But fruits of pomegranate and peach Refresh the Church from over sea.

At mating time the hippo's voice Betrays inflexions hoarse and odd, But every week we hear rejoice The Church, at being one with God.

The hippopotamus's day Is passed in sleep; at night he hunts; God works in a mysterious way- The Church can sleep and feed at once.

I saw the 'potamus take wing Ascending from the damp savannas, And quiring angels round him sing The praise of God, in loud hosannas.

Blood of the Lamb shall wash him clean And him shall heavenly arms enfold, Among the saints he shall be seen Performing on a harp of gold.

Dans le Restaurant

Le garcon d?labr? qui n'a rien ? faire Que de se gratter les doigts et se pencher sur mon ?paule: "Dans mon pays il fera temps pluvieux, Du vent, du grand soleil, et de la pluie; C'est ce qu'on appelle le jour de lessive des gueux." . "Les saules tremp?s, et des bourgeons sur les ronces-- C'est l?, dans une averse, qu'on s'abrite. J'avais septtans, elle ?tait plus petite. Elle etait toute mouill?e, je lui ai donn? des primav?res." Les t?ches de son gilet montent au chiffre de trente-huit. "Je la chatouillais, pour la faire rire. J'?prouvais un instant de puissance et de d?lire."

Mais alors, vieux lubrique, a cet ?ge... "Monsieur, le fait est dur. Il est venu, nous peloter, un gros chien; Moi j'avais peur, je l'ai quittee a mi-chemin. C'est dommage."

Mais alors, tu as ton vautour! Va t'en te d?crotter les rides du visage; Tiens, ma fourchette, d?crasse-toi le cr?ne. De quel droit payes-tu des exp?riences comme moi? Tiens, voil? dix sous, pour la salle-de-bains.

Phl?bas, le Ph?nicien, pendant quinze jours noy?, Oubliait les cris des mouettes et la houle de Cornouaille, Et les profits et les pertes, et la cargaison d'etain: Un courant de sous-mer l'emporta tres loin, Le repassant aux ?tapes de sa vie ant?rieure. Figurez-vous donc, c'etait un sort penible; Cependant, ce fut jadis un bel homme, de haute taille.

Whispers of Immortality

Webster was much possessed by death And saw the skull beneath the skin; And breastless creatures under ground Leaned backward with a lipless grin.

Daffodil bulbs instead of balls Stared from the sockets of the eyes! He knew that thought clings round dead limbs Tightening its lusts and luxuries.

Donne, I suppose, was such another Who found no substitute for sense; To seize and clutch and penetrate, Expert beyond experience,

He knew the anguish of the marrow The ague of the skeleton; No contact possible to flesh Allayed the fever of the bone.

. . . . .

Grishkin is nice: her Russian eye Is underlined for emphasis; Uncorseted, her friendly bust Gives promise of pneumatic bliss.

The couched Brazilian jaguar Compels the scampering marmoset With subtle effluence of cat; Grishkin has a maisonette;

The sleek Brazilian jaguar Does not in its arboreal gloom Distil so rank a feline smell As Grishkin in a drawing-room.

And even the Abstract Entities Circumambulate her charm; But our lot crawls between dry ribs To keep our metaphysics warm.

Mr. Eliot's Sunday Morning Service

Look, look, master, here comes two religious caterpillars. The Jew of Malta.

Polyphiloprogenitive The sapient sutlers of the Lord Drift across the window-panes. In the beginning was the Word.

In the beginning was the Word. Superfetation of , And at the mensual turn of time Produced enervate Origen.

A painter of the Umbrian school Designed upon a gesso ground The nimbus of the Baptized God. The wilderness is cracked and browned

But through the water pale and thin Still shine the unoffending feet And there above the painter set The Father and the Paraclete. . . . . . The sable presbyters approach The avenue of penitence; The young are red and pustular Clutching piaculative pence.

Under the penitential gates Sustained by staring Seraphim Where the souls of the devout Burn invisible and dim.

Along the garden-wall the bees With hairy bellies pass between The staminate and pistilate, Blest office of the epicene.

Sweeney shifts from ham to ham Stirring the water in his bath. The masters of the subtle schools Are controversial, polymath.

Sweeney Among the Nightingales

Apeneck Sweeney spreads his knees Letting his arms hang down to laugh, The zebra stripes along his jaw Swelling to maculate giraffe.

The circles of the stormy moon Slide westward toward the River Plate, Death and the Raven drift above And Sweeney guards the horn?d gate.

Gloomy Orion and the Dog Are veiled; and hushed the shrunken seas; The person in the Spanish cape Tries to sit on Sweeney's knees

Slips and pulls the table cloth Overturns a coffee-cup, Reorganized upon the floor She yawns and draws a stocking up;

The silent man in mocha brown Sprawls at the window-sill and gapes; The waiter brings in oranges Bananas figs and hothouse grapes;

The silent vertebrate in brown Contracts and concentrates, withdraws; Rachel n?e Rabinovitch Tears at the grapes with murderous paws;

She and the lady in the cape Are suspect, thought to be in league; Therefore the man with heavy eyes Declines the gambit, shows fatigue,

Leaves the room and reappears Outside the window, leaning in, Branches of wisteria Circumscribe a golden grin;

The host with someone indistinct Converses at the door apart, The nightingales are singing near The Convent of the Sacred Heart,

And sang within the bloody wood When Agamemnon cried aloud, And let their liquid droppings fall To stain the stiff dishonoured shroud.

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

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