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