T. S.
ELIOT
East Coker
I.
In my beginning is my end. In succession
Houses rise and fall, crumble, are extended,
Are removed, destroyed, restored, or
in
their place
Is an open field, or a factory, or a by-pass.
Old stone to new building, old timber to new fires,
Old fires to ashes, and ashes to the earth
Which is already flesh, fur and faeces,
Bone of man and beast, cornstalk and leaf.
Houses live and die: there is a time for building
And
a time for living and for generation
And
a time for the wind to break the loosened pane
And to shake the wainscot where the field-mouse trots
And to shake the tattered aresse woven with a silent motto.
In my beginning is my end. Now the light falls
Across the open field, leaving the deep lane
Shuttered with branches, dark in the afternoon,
Where you lean against a bank while a van passes,
And the deep lane insists on the direction
Into tIle village, in the electric heat
Hypnotised. In a warm haze the sultry light
Is
absorbed, not refracted, by grey stone.
The dahlias sleep in the empty silence.
Wait for the early owl.
In that open field
If
you do not come too close, if you do not come too close,
On
a Summer midnight, you can hear the music
Of
tile weak pipe and the little drum
And see them dancing around the bonfire
The association of man and woman
In daunsinge, signifying matrimonie-
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