The Love-Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
By T.S. Eliot
For I have known them all already, known them all
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
?So how should I presume
And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin;
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall;
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
?And how should I presume
And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
[But in the
lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]
Is it perfume from a dress?
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
? And how should I begin
**************************************
Morning
at the Window
They are rattling breakfast plates in basement kitchens
And along the trampled edges of the street
I am aware of the damp souls of housemaids
Sprouting despondently at area gates
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The brown waves of fog toss up to me
Twisted faces from the bottom of the street
And tear from a passer-by with muddy skirts
An aimless smile that hovers in the air
And vanishes along the level of the roofs
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