Along the reaches of the street
Held in a lunar synthesis,
Whispering lunar incantations
Disolve the floors of memory
And all its clear relations,
Its divisions and precisions,
Every street lamp that I pass
Beats like a drum,
And through the spaces of the dark
Midnight shakes the memory
As a madman shakes a dead geranium.
Held in a lunar synthesis,
Whispering lunar incantations
Disolve the floors of memory
And all its clear relations,
Its divisions and precisions,
Every street lamp that I pass
Beats like a drum,
And through the spaces of the dark
Midnight shakes the memory
As a madman shakes a dead geranium.
Eliot - Rhapsody on a Windy Night
