Sunday, March 12, 2006

t.s.eliot's river ... run softly 'til i sing my song

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2 comments:

  1. But at my back in a cold blast I hear
    The rattle of bones, and chuckle spread from ear to ear.

    But don't let us forget Edmund Spenser's Prothalamion, from whom Eliot borrowed it.

    Against the Brydal day, which is not long:
    Sweet Themmes! runne softly, till I end my Song.

    My apologies, but you picked on a phrase, which has been with me since I myself wandered by the Thames.

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  2. eliot really does wedge his lyrical pathos into the mind's dustiest corners, and can suddenly wring your heartstrings, if you're not careful, when you go back to him after too long an estrangement

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say what you like ... his lordship will turn it over in what he is pleased to call his mind ...