“因為我在古米親眼看見西比爾吊在籠子裡。孩子們問她：你要什麼，西比爾？ 她回答道：我要死。 ” 獻給艾茲拉·龐德 更卓越的巧匠 四月最殘忍，從死了的 土地滋生丁香，混雜著 回憶和慾望，讓春雨 挑動著呆鈍的根。 冬天保我們溫暖，把大地 埋在忘懷的雪裡，使乾了的 球莖得一點點生命。 夏天來得意外，隨著一陣驟雨 到了斯坦伯吉西；我們躲在廊下， 等太陽出來，便到郝夫加登 去喝咖啡，又閒談了一點鐘。 我不是俄國人，原籍立陶宛，是純德國種。 我們小時侯，在大公家做客， 那是我表兄，他帶我出去滑雪撬， 我害怕死了。他說，瑪麗，瑪麗， 抓緊了呵。於是我們衝下去。 在山中，你會感到舒暢。

我大半夜看書，冬天去到南方。 這是什麼根在抓著，是什麼樹杈 從這片亂石里長出來？人子呵， 你說不出，也猜不著，因為你只知道 一堆破碎的形象，受著太陽拍擊， 而枯樹沒有陰涼，蟋蟀不使人輕鬆， 幹石頭髮不出流水的聲音。只有 一片陰影在這紅色的岩石下， （來吧，請走進這紅岩石下的陰影） 我要指給你一件事，它不同於 你早晨的影子，跟在你後面走 也不像你黃昏的影子，起來迎你， 我要指給你恐懼是在一撮塵土裡。 風兒吹得清爽， 吹向我的家鄉， 我的愛爾蘭孩子， 如今你在何方？ “一年前你初次給了我風信子， 他們都叫我風信子女郎。 ” ——可是當我們從風信子花園走回，天晚了，

你的兩臂抱滿，你的頭髮是濕的， 我說不出話來，兩眼看不見，我 不生也不死，什麼也不知道， 看進光的中心，那一片沉寂。 荒涼而空虛是那大海。 索索斯垂絲夫人，著名的相命家， 患了重感冒，但仍然是 歐洲公認的最有智慧的女人， 她有一副鬼精靈的紙牌。這裡，她說， 你的牌，淹死的腓尼基水手， （那些明珠曾經是他的眼睛。看！） 這是美女貝拉磨娜，岩石的女人， 有多種遭遇的女人。 這是有三根杖的人，這是輪盤， 這是獨眼商人，還有這張牌 是空白的，他拿來背在背上， 不許我看見。我找不到。 那絞死的人。小心死在水里。 我看見成群的人，在一個圈裡轉。 謝謝你。如果你看見伊奎通太太，

就說我親自把星像圖帶過去： 這年頭人得萬事小心呵。 不真實的城， 在冬天早晨棕黃色的霧下， 一群人流過倫敦橋，呵，這麼多 我沒有想到死亡毀滅了這麼多。 嘆息，隔一會短短地噓出來， 每個人的目光都盯著自己的腳。 流上小山，流下威廉王大街， 直到聖瑪麗·烏爾諾教堂，在那裡 大鍾正沉沉橋著九點的最後一響。 那兒我遇到一個熟人，喊住他道： “史太森！你記得我們在麥來船上！ 去年你種在你的花園裡的屍首， 它發芽了嗎？今年能開花嗎？ 還是突然霜凍攪亂了它的花床？ 哦，千萬把狗攆開，那是人類之友， 不然他會用爪子又把它掘出來！ 你呀，偽善的讀者——我的同類，我的兄弟！ ”

"Nam Sibyllam quidem Cumis ego ipse oculis meis vidi in ampulla pendere, et cum illi pueri dicerent: Sibylla ti theleis; respondebat illa: apothanein thelo." April is the cruellest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain.

Winter kept us warm, covering Earth in forgetful snow, feeding A little life with dried tubers. Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade, And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten, And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.

Bin gar keine Russin, stamm aus Litauen, echt deutsch. And when we were children, staying at the archdukes, My cousins, he took me out on a sled, And I was frightened. He said, Marie, Marie, hold on tight. And down we went. In the mountains, there you feel free. I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.

What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man, You cannot say, or guess, for you know only A heap of broken images, where the sun beats, And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief, And the dry stone no sound of water. Only There is shadow under this red rock,

(Come in under the shadow of this red rock), And I will show you something different from either Your shadow at morning striding behind you Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you; I will show you fear in a handful of dust. Frisch weht der Wind Der Heimat zu Mein Irisch Kind, Wo weilest du?

"You gave me hyacinths first a year ago; "They called me the hyacinth girl." ––Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden, Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither Living nor dead, and I knew nothing, Looking into the heart of light, the silence.

Oed und leer das Meer. Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante, Had a bad cold, nevertheless Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe, With a wicked pack of cards. Here, said she, Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor, (Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!) Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks, The lady of situations. Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel, And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card, Which is blank, is something he carries on his back, Which I am forbidden to see. I do not find The Hanged Man. Fear death by water. I see crowds of people, walking round in a ring. Thank you. If you see dear Mrs. Equitone, Tell her I bring the horoscope myself: One must be so careful these days. Unreal City, Under the brown fog of a winter dawn, A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many, I had not thought death had undone so many. Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled, And each man fixed his eyes before his feet. Flowed up the hill and down King William Street, To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine. There I saw one I knew, and stopped him, crying "Stetson! "You who were with me in the ships at Mylae! "That corpse you planted last year in your garden, "Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year? "Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed? "Oh keep the Dog far hence, thats friend to men, "Or with his nails hell dig it up again! "You! hypocrite lecteur! - mon semblable, - mon frere!"