A longing to set my lands in order.
Happy Easter - al
April is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of Man.
You cannot say or guess, for you know only
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. Only
There is shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
Here is no water but only rock
Rock and no water and the sandy road
The road winding above the mountains
Which are mountains of rock without water
If there were water we should stop and drink
Amongst the rock one cannot stop and think
Sweat is dry and feet are in the sand
If there were only water amongst the rock
Dead mountain mouth of carious teeth cannot spit
Here one can neither stand nor lie nor sit
There is not even silence in the mountains
I sat upon the shore
Fishing, with the arid plain behind me
Shall I at least set my lands in order?
....These fragments I have shored against my ruins
Peace. Peace. Peace.
-- T.S. Eliot (excerpted from the Waste Land)