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 glassi n 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
Eyes I dare not meet in dreams in death's dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging and voices are in the wind's singing
More distant and more solemn than a fading star
Let me be no nearer in death's dream kingdom
Let me also wear such deliberate disguises
Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves in a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer. Not that final meeting in the twilight kingdom
This is the dead land. This is cactus land
Here the stone images are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man's hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star
(Is it like this in death's other kingdom)
Waking alone at the hour when we are trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss form prayers to broken stone
The eyes are not here. There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars. In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms
In this last of meeting places
We grope together and avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river
Sightless, unless the eyes reappear as the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose of death's twilight kingdom
The hope only of empty men
Between desire and spasm. Between the potency and existence
Between the essence and descent falls shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper