LET us 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 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 fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes ,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window -panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening ,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace ,made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.
And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street;
Rubbing its back upon the window panes ;
There will be time,there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create;
And time for all the works and days of hand