Explore "Prufrock and Other Obsevations: La Figlia Che Piange" by T.S. Eliot on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Stand on the highest pavement of the stair --
Lean on a garden urn --
Weave, weave the sunlight in your hair -- / Clasp your flowers to you with a pained surprise -- / Fling them to the ground and turn / With a fugitive resentment in your eyes: / But weave, weave the sunlight in your hair.
So I would have had him leave, / So I would have had her stand and grieve, / So he would have left / As the soul leaves the body torn and bruised / As the mind deserts the body it has used.
I should find / Some way incomparably light and deft, / Some way we both should understand, / Simple and faithless as a smile and shake of the hand.
She turned away, but with the autumn weather / Compelled my imagination many days, / Many days and many hours: / Her hair over her arms and her arms full of flowers.
And I wonder how they should have been together! / I should have lost a gesture and a pose.
Sometimes these cogitations still amaze / The troubled midnight and the noon's repose.