At Last

[cbertsch]

From "The Wasteland" by T.S. Eliot:

In this decayed hole among the mountains
In the faint moonlight, the grass is singing
Over the tumbled graves, about the chapel
There is the empty chapel, only the wind's home.
It has no windows, and the door swings,
Dry bones can harm no one.
Only a cock stood on the rooftree
Co co rico co co rico
In a flash of lightning. Then a damp gust
Bringing rain

The sense of relief has me senseless. It's finally here in all its awesome power.

Comments

I am stealing that photograph above--melancholy icon, what I have to miss.

[elizabeg.livejournal.com]

There is nothing like that building to the moment when the storm is just about to break, when it does break across some reach just out of town. Nothing.

I've always been a little sad not to know Eliot as well as I would like. What's always stayed with me is that part of in "A Game of Chess" where the wind is bad, comes reaching all up under doors. "What thinking? What?" the thing I just can't shake. Etc. But I love the wind that's sweeping in these lines as well. So much.

Re: I am stealing that photograph above--melancholy icon, what I have to miss.

[cbertsch.livejournal.com]

For an excessively dry man he sure knew how to make wetness seem decisively wet. Thanks for the pilfering!