Tuesday Poem

I am returning to the four quartets after the Christmas break. This is from the first part of the second quartet, East Coker. The second quartet was published at Easter, 1940. Eliot is buried in this village.

East Coker

In my beginning is my end. Now the light falls
Across the open field, leaving the deep lane
Shuttered with branches, dark in the afternoon,
Where you lean against a bank while a van passes,
And the deep lane insists on the direction
Into the village, in the electric heat
Hypnotised. In a warm haze the sultry light
Is absorbed, not refracted, by grey stone.
The dahlias sleep in the empty silence.
Wait for the early owl.

T.S. Eliot, 1940