We Learn What Poetry Is - If

April Is The Cruelest Month, Breeding Lilacs Out Of The Dead Land, Mixing Memory And Desire, Stirring Dull Roots With Spring Rain.

This Is The Way The World Ends, Not With A Bang, But A Whimper.

Those Who Say They Give The Public What It Wants Begin By Underestimating Public Taste And End By Debauching It.

In The Room The Women Come And Go Talking Of Michelangelo.

And Voices Singing Out Of Empty Cisterns And Exhausted Wells.