There will be time, there will be time
[…]
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.
Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized is spread out against the sky […].
[incipit]
The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the windowpanes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
[…]
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.
[…]
Rubbing its back upon the window panes […].
For I have known them all already, known them all:
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
da The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock and Other Poems by T. S. Eliot
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