The Journey of the Magi

A cold coming we had of it, Just the worst time of year For a journey, and such a long journey: The ways deep and the weather sharp, The very dead of winter. And the camels galled, sore-footed, refractory, Lying down in the melting sand.

There were times we regretted The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces, And the many noises in the barren hotel, The eyes of the dead, and sleeping places.

We had our feet in the mud, and The cold rain washed the streets, In the morning we went on to the great sacred city Where nothing lives, and nothing dies: A tree with faces, the ancient stone, and the moon Hanging low as we lay down to rest.

But that was the star of hope That brought us there alive, In the dark of the shadows. . .

And we thought of home and where we were going, And we turned to others as they turned to us. . .

• TS Eliot