T.S. Eliot

O the moon shone bright on Mrs. Porter And on her daughter They wash their feet in soda water.

Stand on the highest pavement of the stair- Lean on a garden urn- Weave, weave the sunlight in your hair.

Lady, three white leopards sat under a juniper tree.

Because these wings are no longer wings to fly But merely vans to beat the air The air which is now thoroughly small and dry Smaller and dryer than the will Teach us to care and not to care Teach us to sit still.

A cold coming we had of it, Just the worst time of the year For a journey, and such a long journey: The ways deep and the weather sharp, The very dead of winter.

Who is the third who walks always beside you?

This is the way the world ends Not with a bang but a whimper.

One thinks of all the hands That are raising dingy shades In a thousand furnished rooms.

Time present and time past Are both perhaps present in time future, And time future contained in time past.

There will be time to murder and create.