The Waste Land by t.s. eliot

I. The Burial of the Dead

April is the cruellest month, breeding

Lilacs out of the dead land

In the mountains, there you feel free.

A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,

And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,

And the dry stone no sound of water.

Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante

Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe,

With a wicked pack of cards.

Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,

A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,

I had not thought death had undone so many.

II. A Game of Chess

The Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne,

From which a golden Cupidon peeped out

From satin cases poured in rich profusion;

In vials of ivory and coloured glass

Unstoppered, lurked her strange synthetic perfumes,

Unguent, powdered, or liquid—troubled, confused

The change of Philomel, by the barbarous king

So rudely forced; yet there the nightingale

Filled all the desert with inviolable voice

“My nerves are bad tonight. Yes, bad. Stay with me.


III. The Fire Sermon

The river’s tent is broken: the last fingers of leaf

Clutch and sink into the wet bank.

Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song.

The nymphs are departed.

White bodies naked on the low damp ground

And bones cast in a little low dry garret

Followed by a weekend at the Metropole.


Flushed and decided, he assaults at once;

Exploring hands encounter no defence;

His vanity requires no response,

And makes a welcome of indifference.

Elizabeth and Leicester

Burning burning burning burning

IV. Death by Water

Phlebas the Phoenician, a fortnight dead,

Forgot the cry of gulls, and the deep sea swell

He passed the stages of his age and youth

Entering the whirlpool.

O you who turn the wheel and look to windward,

Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you.

V. What the Thunder Said

He who was living is now dead

Here is no water but only rock

Rock and no water and the sandy road

If there were water

And no rock

If there were rock

And also water

And water

A spring

Who is the third who walks always beside you?






There is the empty chapel, only the wind’s home.

In a flash of lightning. Then a damp gust

Bringing rain

London Bridge is falling down falling down falling down

Created By
Maddison Gail

Report Abuse

If you feel that this video content violates the Adobe Terms of Use, you may report this content by filling out this quick form.

To report a Copyright Violation, please follow Section 17 in the Terms of Use.