Ganga was sunken, and the limp leaves Waited for rain, while the black clouds Gathered far distant, over Himavant.The jungle crouched, humped in silence.Then spoke the thunder
April is the cruellest month, breeding; Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing; Memory and desire, stirring; Dull roots with spring rain.
Gentle or Jew O you who turn the wheel and look to windward, Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you.
Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song,; Sweet Thames, run softly, for I speak not loud or long.
What is the wind doing?" Nothing again nothing. "Do You know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember Nothing?"