THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD 

T H E  W A S T E  L A N D 

I. THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD

APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding 
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing 

Memory and desire, stirring 

Dull roots with spring rain. 

Winter kept us warm, covering 

Earth in forgetful snow, feeding 

A little life with dried tubers. 

Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee 

With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade, 

And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten, 

And drank coffee, and talked for an hour. 

Bin gar keine Russin, stamm’ aus Litauen, echt deutsch. 

And when we were children, staying at the archduke’s, 

My cousin’s, he took me out on a sled, 

And I was frightened. He said, Marie, 

Marie, hold on tight. And down we went. 

In the mountains, there you feel free. 

I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.
T. S. Eliot, 1922


#april #theburialofthedead

#whereitallbegan #tseliot #aprilisthecruelestmonth #thewasteland #poetryisnecessary #poeticchampionscompose #inspiration #influencer #masterworks

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