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THE HOLLOW MEN
T.S. Eliot
We are the
hollow men
We are the
stuffed men
Leaning
together
Headpiece
filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried
voices, when
We whisper
together
Are quiet and
meaningless
As wind in dry
grass
Or rats' feet
over broken glass
In our dry
cellar
Shape without
form, shade without colour,
Paralysed
force, gesture without motion;
Those who have
crossed
With direct
eyes, to death's other Kingdom
Remember us—if
at all—not as lost
Violent souls,
but only
As the hollow
men
The stuffed
men.
......END.....