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About this Poem 

“Song” was published in Vol. 83, No. 6, of The Harvard Advocate on May 24, 1907. 

Song

When we came home across the hill
    No leaves were fallen from the trees;
    The gentle fingers of the breeze
Had torn no quivering cobweb down.

The hedgerow bloomed with flowers still,
    No withered petals lay beneath;
    But the wild roses in your wreath
Were faded, and the leaves were brown.
 

This poem is in the public domain. 

This poem is in the public domain. 

T. S. Eliot

T. S. Eliot

Born in Missouri on September 26, 1888, T. S. Eliot is the author of The Waste Land, which is now considered by many to be the most influential poetic work of the twentieth century.

by this poet

poem
They are rattling breakfast plates in basement kitchens,	
And along the trampled edges of the street	
I am aware of the damp souls of housemaids	
Sprouting despondently at area gates.	
 
The brown waves of fog toss up to me	        
Twisted faces from the bottom of the street,	
And tear from a passer-by with
poem

I

The winter evening settles down
With smell of steaks in passageways.
Six o'clock.
The burnt-out ends of smoky days.
And now a gusty shower wraps
The grimy scraps
Of withered leaves about your feet
And newspapers from vacant lots;
The showers beat
On broken

poem
Miss Helen Slingsby was my maiden aunt,	
And lived in a small house near a fashionable square	
Cared for by servants to the number of four.	
Now when she died there was silence in heaven	
And silence at her end of the street.
The shutters were drawn and the undertaker wiped his feet—	
He was aware that this sort