American Literature · British Culture · Classic · Collection · Excerpt · Imagism · Modernism · Passage · Poetry

T.S. Eliot

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,… Continue reading T.S. Eliot

Rate this: