Four quartets, T. S. Eliot

«...Go, go, go, said the bird: human kind
Cannot bear very much reality. Time past and time future
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, wich is always present.
...And the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless;
Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,
But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity,
Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards,
Neither ascent from nor decline. Except for the point, the still point,
There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.
I can only say, 'theres' we have been: but I cannot say where...»

(Four quartets, T. S. Eliot)

Song, by TS Eliot

If space and time, as sages say,
    Are things which cannot be,
The fly that lives a single day
    Has lived as long as we.
But let us live while yet we may,
    While love and life are free,
For time is time, and runs away,
    Though sages disagree.

The flowers I sent thee when the dew
    Was trembling on the vine,
Were withered ere the wild bee flew
    To suck the eglantine.
But let us haste to pluck anew
    Nor mourn to see them pine,
And though the flowers of love be few
    Yet let them be divine.

Song, by T. S. Eliot

When we came home across the hill     No leaves were fallen from the trees;     The gentle fingers of the breeze Had torn no quivering cobweb down. The hedgerow bloomed with flowers still,     No withered petals lay beneath;     But the wild roses in your wreath Were faded, and the leaves were brown.

Preludes [excerpt] by T. S. Eliot

IV His soul stretched tight across the skies That fade behind a city block, Or trampled by insistent feet At four and five and six o'clock; And short square fingers stuffing pipes, And evening newspapers, and eyes Assured of certain certainties, The conscience of a blackened street Impatient to assume the world. I am moved by fancies that are curled Around these images, and cling: The notion of some infinitely gentle Infinitely suffering thing. Wipe your hand across your mouth, and laugh; The worlds revolve like ancient women Gathering fuel in vacant lots.