Wednesday, April 9, 2008

I'm enjoying these poems-for-poetry's-sake posts!

Death by Water (section IV of The Waste Land)

Phlebas the Phoenician, a fortnight dead,
Forgot the cries of gulls, and deep sea swell
and the profit and loss.
A current under sea
Picked his bones in whispers. As he rose and fell
He passes the stages of his age and youth
Entering the whirlpool.
Gentile or Jew
O you who turn the wheel and look to windward,
Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you.

--T.S. Eliot

1 comment:

Lisa B. said...

I have always loved that last line. I aspire to it.