ll bring
Sweeo Mrs. Porter in the spring.
O the moon shone bright on Mrs. Porter
And on her daughter
They wash their feet in soda water
Et O ces voix denfants, tant dans la coupole!
Twit twit twit
Jug jug jug jug jug jug
So rudely forcd.
Tereu
Unreal City
Uhe brown fog of a winter noon
Mr. Eugehe Smyrna mert
Unshaven, with a pocket full of currants
C.i.f. London: dots at sight,
Asked me iic French
To lun at the on Street Hotel
Followed by a weekend at the Metropole.
At the violet hour, when the eyes and back
Turn upward from the desk, when the human engine waits
Like a taxi throbbing waiting,
I Tiresias, though blind, throbbiween two lives,
Old man with wrinkled female breasts, see
At the violet hour, the evening hour that strives
Homeward, and brings the sailor home from sea,
The typist home at teatime, clears her breakfast, lights
Her stove, and lays out food in tins.
Out of the window perilously spread
Her drying binations touched by the suns last rays,
On the divan are piled (at night her bed)
Stogs, slippers, camisoles, and stays.
I Tiresias, old man with wrinkled dugs
Perceived the se, and foretold the rest -
I too awaited the expected guest.
He, the young man carbuncular, arrives,
A small house agents clerk, with one bold stare,
One of the low on whom assuras
As a silk hat on a Bradford millionaire.
The time is now propitious, as he guesses,
The meal is ended, she is bored and tired,
Endeavours to engage her in caresses
Which still are unreproved, if undesired.
Flushed and decided, he assaults at once;
Expl hands enter no defence;
His vanity requires no response,
And makes a wele of indifference.
(And I Tiresias have foresuffered all
E
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