*Excerpt from “The Love-Song of J. Alfred Prufrock”
“Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky Like a patient etherized upon a table; Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question. . .
Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"
Let us go and make our visit.”*