The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse A persona che mai tornasse al mondo, Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.

Let us go then, you and I, When the evening is spread out against the sky Like a patient etherized upon a table; Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets, The muttering retreats Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells: Streets that follow like a tedious argument Of insidious intent To lead you to an overwhelming question …

Oh, do not ask, “What is it?” Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go Talking of Michelangelo.

The Yellow Leaf

To the green murmur of the flowered garden, Where it is said everyone must wait For something to arrive; I fold my arms upon my chest And think of the quiet autumn days, Dreaming of the yellow leafs That tumble from the soil, As if to adorn the sky.

I have not heard the sound of a single bird, And on this street, silent shadows pass.

So here I sit, in all of nature’s bloom, Waiting for a sign beneath the quiet moon.

• TS Eliot