Ash Wednesday

I know it's a week late. Still, courtesy of Red Lion Reports, I share this excerpt from T.S. Eliot's poem, Ash Wednesday:

• Although I do not hope to turn again
• Although I do not hope
• Although I do not hope to turn


• Wavering between the profit and the loss
• In this brief transit where the dreams cross
• The dreamcrossed twilight between birth and dying
• (Bless me father) though I do not wish to wish these things
• From the wide window towards the granite shore
• The white sails still fly seaward, seaward flying
• Unbroken wings


• And the lost heart stiffens and rejoices
• In the lost lilac and the lost sea voices
• And the weak spirit quickens to rebel
• For the bent golden-rod and the lost sea smell
• Quickens to recover
• The cry of quail and the whirling plover
• And the blind eye creates
• The empty forms between the ivory gates
• And smell renews the salt savour of the sandy earth


• This is the time of tension between dying and birth
• The place of solitude where three dreams cross
• Between blue rocks
• But when the voices shaken from the yew-tree drift away
• Let the other yew be shaken and reply.


• Blessèd sister, holy mother, spirit of the fountain, spirit of the garden,
• Suffer us not to mock ourselves with falsehood
• Teach us to care and not to care
• Teach us to sit still
• Even among these rocks,
• Our peace in His will
• And even among these rocks
• Sister, mother
• And spirit of the river, spirit of the sea,
• Suffer me not to be separated


• And let my cry come unto Thee.