The Waste Land and Other Poems by T.S. Eliot
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It is worth just recapping the tiny but significant details that prepare us for Phlebas’ unhappy voyage:
Frisch weht der Wind
Der heimat zu
Oed’ und leer das Meer .
Here, said she,
Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor,
(Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!)
Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks,
I do not find
The Hanged Man. Fear death by water.
‘You who were with me in the ships at Mylae!
I remember
Those are pearls that were his eyes.
At the violet hour, the evening hour that strives
Homeward, and brings the sailor home from sea
And a clatter and a chatter from within
Where fishmen lounge and noon
The barges drift
With the turning tide
Red sails
Wide
To leeward, swing on the heavy spar
Beating oars
The stern was formed
A gilded shell
Red and gold
To Carthage then I came
Damyata : The boat responded
Gaily, to the hand expert with sail and oar
The sea was calm, your heart would have responded
Gaily, when invited, beating obedient
To controlling hands.

Available HERE where you can read the opening chapters.