| We are the hollow men. |
| We are the stuffed men
|
| Leaning together. |
| Headpiece filled with straw. |
| Alas!
|
| Our dried voices, when we whisper together
|
| Are quiet and meaningless as wind in dry grass
|
| Or rats' feet over broken glass in our dry cellar
|
| Shape without form, shade without colour
|
| Paralysed force, gesture without motion;
|
| Those who have crossed with direct eyes, to death’s other kingdom
|
| Remember us-if at all-not as lost violent souls, but only
|
| As the hollow men. |
| The stuffed men
|
| Eyes I dare not meet in dreams in death’s dream kingdom
|
| These do not appear: There, the eyes are sunlight on a broken column
|
| There, is a tree swinging and voices are in the wind’s singing
|
| More distant and more solemn than a fading star
|
| Let me be no nearer in death’s dream kingdom
|
| Let me also wear such deliberate disguises
|
| Rat’s coat, crowskin, crossed staves in a field
|
| Behaving as the wind behaves
|
| No nearer. |
| Not that final meeting in the twilight kingdom
|
| This is the dead land. |
| This is cactus land
|
| Here the stone images are raised, here they receive
|
| The supplication of a dead man’s hand
|
| Under the twinkle of a fading star
|
| (Is it like this in death’s other kingdom)
|
| Waking alone at the hour when we are trembling with tenderness
|
| Lips that would kiss form prayers to broken stone
|
| The eyes are not here. |
| There are no eyes here
|
| In this valley of dying stars. |
| In this hollow valley
|
| This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms
|
| In this last of meeting places
|
| We grope together and avoid speech
|
| Gathered on this beach of the tumid river
|
| Sightless, unless the eyes reappear as the perpetual star
|
| Multifoliate rose of death’s twilight kingdom the hope only of empty men
|
| Between desire and spasm. |
| Between the potency and existence
|
| Between the essence and descent falls shadow
|
| For Thine is the Kingdom
|
| This is the way the world ends
|
| Not with a bang but a whimper |