The Hollow Men by T.S.

Eliot Lips that would kiss

Form prayers to broken stone.
Mistah Kurtz—he dead.
A penny for the Old Guy IV
The eyes are not here
I There are no eyes here
We are the hollow men In this valley of dying stars
We are the stuffed men In this hollow valley
Leaning together This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when In this last of meeting places
We whisper together We grope together
Are quiet and meaningless And avoid speech
As wind in dry grass Gathered on this beach of this tumid river
or rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
Shape without form, shade without colour, As the perpetual star
Paralysed force, gesture without motion; Multifoliate rose
Of death's twilight kingdom
Those who have crossed The hope only
With direct eyes, to death's other kingdom Of empty men.
Remember us - if at all - not as lost V
Violent souls, but only Here we go round the prickly pear
As the hollow men Prickly pear prickly pear
The stuffed men. Here we go round the prickly pear
II At five o'clock in the morning.
Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death's dream kingdom Between the idea
These do not appear: And the reality
There, the eyes are Between the motion
Sunlight on a broken column And the act
There, is a tree swinging Falls the Shadow
And voices are
In the wind's singing For Thine is the Kingdom
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star. Between the conception
And the creation
Let me be no nearer Between the emotion
In death's dream kingdom And the response
Let me also wear Falls the Shadow
Such deliberate disguises
Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves Life is very long
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves Between the desire
No nearer - And the spasm
Between the potency
Not that final meeting And the existence
In the twilight kingdom Between the essence
And the descent
III Falls the Shadow
This is the dead land
This is cactus land For Thine is the Kingdom
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive For Thine is
The supplication of a dead man's hand Life is
Under the twinkle of a fading star. For Thine is the
Is it like this This is the way the world ends
In death's other kingdom This is the way the world ends
Waking alone This is the way the world ends
At the hour when we are
Not with a bang but with a whimper.
Trembling with tenderness