Ash Wednesday

I. Because I cannot hope to turn again Consequently, I rejoice, having known them all, Not only in their own countries, In the garden of the world perhaps, Where air is clean and fragrant with laughter.

II. The peace that is given to preside over the hospitality Of the seasons; that which is every man’s right; Waiting for autumn, for spring, for every new hope That we want to believe; to teach the young, To speak—and above all, to listen. . .

III. And with the waking of the trees, the day is piercing Into our bodies, just beyond the sight of man. As if violated like old roots when men are near; . . The paths will twist, like ivy, in their sleep. There is an echo of our sorrow to come. So, towards the church, the heart rocks, and we.

IV. Because of this we cannot weep. . .
We know we have made much of pain. . .

• TS Eliot