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             The Hollow Men 
               Mistah Kurz - he dead.
               A penny for the Old Guy

                                I

          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
          Falls the Shadow
 	                                  For Thine is the Kingdom

             Between the conception
          And the creation
          Between the emotion
          And the response
          Falls the Shadow
                                                 Life is very long

             Between the desire
          And the spasm
          Between the potency
          And the existence
          Between the essence
          And the descent
          Falls the Shadow
                                           For Thine is the Kingdom

             For Thine is
          Life is
          For Thine is the

             This is the way the world ends
          This is the way the world ends
          This is the way the world ends
          Not with a bang but a whimper.

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