![]() To have bitten off the matter with a smile, I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,Īnd I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,Īnd would it have been worth it, after all,Īmong the porcelain, among some talk of you and me, I am no prophet - and here’s no great matter Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter, Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?īut though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed, Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me. Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.Īnd the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully! I should have been a pair of ragged claws Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? … Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streetsĪnd watched the smoke that rises from the pipes (But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!)Īrms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl. To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?Īnd I have known the arms already, known them all-Īrms that are braceleted and white and bare When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall, The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,Īnd when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin, I know the voices dying with a dying fallĪnd I have known the eyes already, known them all. I have measured out my life with coffee spoons Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons, (They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”)įor decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.įor I have known them all already, known them all: My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin. My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin, (They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”) With a bald spot in the middle of my hair. To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?” That lift and drop a question on your plate ![]() To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet Īnd time for all the works and days of hands Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,Īnd seeing that it was a soft October night,Ĭurled once about the house, and fell asleep.įor the yellow smoke that slides along the street, Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys, Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains, Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening, The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes, The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes, To lead you to an overwhelming question … Streets that follow like a tedious argument Of restless nights in one- night cheap hotelsĪnd sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells: Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets, Prufrock can only experience love through other people, at second- and third-hand.When the evening is spread out against the sky He truly believes his beloved has sent him signals that she likes him, but he is worried that he might be misinterpreting her signals. Prufrock imagines that his love would say, "That is not what I meant at all." What would she be responding to, and what did he think she ‘"meant.".What is the real reason that Prufrock never asks his "overwhelming question"?.At what points in the poem does he seem more interested in love, and at what points does he not seem to care?.Is the title accurate in calling the poem a "love song"? Do you think Prufrock is really in love?.Whatever it is, the feeling never goes anywhere, and Prufrock is left to drown with his would-be beloved in the deep, deep ocean. But he’s so vain and so taken up with trivial pleasure like coffee and peaches that it’s hard to believe that the feeling he has is really "love." It might just be lust or just a strong attraction. There are a couple of points where he almost overcomes his massive fear of rejection, especially when he is standing on top of the stairs and wondering, "Do I dare?" (line 38). Maybe he’s too shy to speak his mind, although "cowardly" seems more accurate. He speaks about himself a lot, and he ignores her, or "us," for most of the poem. It’s hard to tell whether Prufrock is really in love with the person he is talking to.
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