Continuing our dead poets series we come to T S Eliot.
Simple guidelines on how to construct your own dead poet novelty poem appear together with a Thomas Hardy poem from the beyond. It's just a few posts below this one.
T S Eliot's poem from beyond the grave
In the room the women come and go
Then sit for half an hour and drink our bocks
Under the twinkle of a fading star
Redeem the time, redeem the dream
In the land of lobelias and tennis flannels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster shells;
And woodthrush calling through the fog
The stubborn season has made stand
And you see the corner of her eye
Among whispers; by Mr Silvero
And other heroes of that kidney
Assured of certain certainties
A meagre blue-nailed phthisic hand
The lengthened shadow of a man
Letting his arms hang down to laugh
To keep our metaphysics warm.