The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock Author(s): T. S. Eliot Reviewed work(s): Source: Poetry, Vol. 6, No. 3 (Jun.

, 1915), pp. 130-135 Published by: Poetry Foundation Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/20570428 . Accessed: 27/02/2013 01:41
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POETRY:

AMIagazine

of Verse PRUFROCK

THE LOVE SONG OF J.ALFRED

S' io credessi che mia risposta fosse A persona che mai tornasse al mondo, Questa flAmmastaria sensa piu scosse. Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo Non tornovivo alcum, s' i' odo il vero, Senza tema d' infamia ti rispondo. Let us go then, you and I, When

Like a patient etherized upon a table; Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets, retreats The muttering Of restless nightsinone-night cheaphotels And sawdustrestaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument

the evening is spread out against the sky

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 ofMichelangelo.
The yellow fog that rubs its back upon thewindow panes,

muzzle on the window panes, The yellowsmoke thatrubsits intothecorners Licked itstongue of theevening, Lingeredupon thepools thatstand indrains, [130]

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The Love Song of J.AlfredPrufrock chimneys, Let fallupon itsback thespotthatfallsfrom made a suddenleap, Slippedby theterrace, was a soft October night, And seeingthatit Curled onceaboutthehouse,and fellasleep. will be time And indeedthere For theyellowsmokethatslidesalong thestreet, window panes; Rubbing itsbackupon the there will be time There will be time,
To And That Time prepare a face tomeet the faces that you meet; be time to murder and create, time for all theworks and days of hands lift and drop a question on your plate: for you and time forme, There will

yet fora hundredindecisions, And time and revisions, visions And fora hundred
Before the taking of a toast and tea. In the room thewomen come and go

Talking ofMichelangelo. will be time And indeedthere

To wonder, "Do I dare?" and, "Do I dare?" Time to turn back and descend the stair, With a bald spot in themiddle of my hair

(Theywill say: "How his hair isgrowingthin!")

My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,

[131]

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POETRY:

a Magazine

of Verse

pin bya simple but asserted rich andmodest, My necktie

(They will say: Do I dare "But how his arms and legs are thin!")

Disturb theuniverse? will reverse. which aminute and revisions For decisions all: known them already, For I have known them afternoons, mornings, Have knowntheevenings, with coffee spoons; outmy life I have measured with a dyingfall I know thevoicesdying room. a farther music from Beneath the So how shouldI presume?
And The I have known the eyes already, known them all In a minute there is time

eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase. And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin, When I am pinned and wriggling on thewall, Then To how should I begin spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?

And how shouldI presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all Arms that are braceleted and white and bare Is it perfume from a dress That makes me so digress?

brownhair!) with light downed (But in thelamplight,

[132]

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The Love Song of J.AlfredPrufrock

Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.

And shouldI then presume? And how shouldI begin?

Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets,

thepipes And watched thesmokethatrisesfrom men inshirtsleeves, leaning outofwindows? . Of lonely

I should have been a pair of ragged claws

acrossthefloors of silentseas. Scuttling theevening, so peacefully! And theafternoon, 'sleeps Smoothed by longfingers,
Asleep

herebesideyou andme. on thefloor, Stretched

. . . tired

. . . or itmalingers,

Should I, after tea and cakes and ices, Have the strength to force themoment to its crisis?

Though I have seen my head (grownslightly bald) brought

in upon a platter, I am no prophet-and here's no great matter;

But though I have wept and fasted,wept and prayed,

I have seen the ofmy greatness flicker, moment

And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and

snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

worth it,afterall, And would ithave been After thecups,the marmalade,thetea, [133]

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POETRY:

A Magazine

of Verse

Among the porcelain, amongsometalkof you andme, Would ithave beenworthwhile

To To To have bitten off thematter with a smile, have squeezed say: the universe into a ball come from the dead,

To roll it towardsomeoverwhelming question,

"I am Lazarus, Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all"

a pillow byherhead, If one,settling

Should say: That "That is not what I meant at all; is not it, at all." it have been worth it, after all,

And would

worthwhile, Would ithave been After thesunsets and the dooryards and thesprinkled streets, After thenovels, afterthe teacups, aftertheskirts thattrail along thefloor
And this, and so much more? lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a It is impossible to say just what I mean! But as if a magic Would screen :. it have been worth while

If one,settling a pillowor throwing off a shawl, towardthe window, shouldsay: "That isnot And turning
it at all, That No! is not what I meant, at all." nor was meant to be;

I am not Prince Hamlet,

Am an attendant lord, one thatwill do

[134]

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The Love Song of J.AlfredPrufrock Advise the prince: withal,an easy tool, Deferential, glad to be of use, Politic,cautious, andmeticulous; but a bitobtuse; Full of highsentence, At times, indeed, almostridiculous Almost,at times, theFool.
I grow old . . . I grow old To swell a progress, start a scene or two,

I shall bottoms ofmy trowsers rolled. wear the

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?

trowsers, I shall wearwhite flannel andwalk upon thebeach. mermaids singing, each toeach. I haveheard the
I do not think that theywill sing tome. I have seen them riding seaward on thewaves, thewhite hair of thewaves blown back

waterwhite and black. wind blows the When the

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea

Combing

with seaweedredand brown, wreathed By seagirls wake us, andwe drown. Till humanvoices T. S. Eliot

[135]

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