Thomas Stearns Eliot

Hollow People

Mistah Kurtz is dead

A Penny for the Old Guy

I

 We are the hollow men We are the stuffed men Leaning together Headpiece lilled with straw. Alas! Our dried voices, when We whisper together Are quiet and meaningless As wind in dry grass Or rats' feet over the broken glass In our dry cellar. Shape without form, shade without color, Paralysed force, gesture without motion; Those who have crossed With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom Remember us-if at all-not as lost Violent souls, but only As the hollow men, The stuffed men.

II

 Eyes I dare not meet in dreams In death's dream kingdom These do not appear: There, the eyes are Sunlight on a broken column There, is a tree swinging And voices are In the wind's singing More distant and more solemn Than a fading star. Let me be no nearer In death's dream kingdom Let me also wear Such deliberate disguises Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves In a field Behaving as the wind behaves No nearer- *** Not the final meeting In the twilight kingdom.


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