From The
Four Quartets , T.S. Eliot
East Coker III
O dark dark
dark. They all go into the dark,
...
And cold the
sense and lost the motive of action.
And we all
go with them, into the silent funeral,
Nobody's
funeral, for there is no one to bury.
I said to my
soul, be still, and let the dark come upon you
Which shall
be the darkness of God. As, in a theatre,
The lights
are extinguished, for the scene to be changed
With a
hollow rumble of wings, with a movement of darkness on darkness,
And we know
that the hills and the trees, the distant panorama
And the bold
imposing facade are all being rolled away-
Or as, when
an underground train, in the tube, stops too long between stations
And the
conversation rises and slowly fades into silence
...
Or when,
under ether, the mind is conscious but conscious of nothing-
I said to my
soul, be still, and wait without hope
For hope
would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love,
For love
would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith
But the faith
and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
Wait without
thought, for you are not ready for thought:
So the
darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.
Whisper of
running streams, and winter lightning.
The wild
thyme unseen and the wild strawberry,
The laughter
in the garden, echoed ecstasy
Not lost,
but requiring, pointing to the agony
Of death and
birth.
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