We who were living are now dying Co co rico co co rico Burned green and orange, framed by the coloured stone, And bones cast in a little low dry garret. Could you elaborate on the "second section" "describing a woman laden with jewellery"? Or other testimony of summer nights. fall. T.S. the same realisation that he has had. Note the lack of intimacy evidenced in the description above. Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Because of the war, he was unable to return to the United States to receive his degree. Ten of Swords:Here, said she, is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor. But at my back in a cold blast I hear He promised a new start. I tried expanding on it, hope it's more clear-cut now. regenerate the Waste Is there a generic term for these trajectories? While only one eye remains open, it could be simply to suggest existence. Jug jug jug jug jug jug Character driven and with focus on their development this is just my type of novel. Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you. Interesting point. Oh keep the Dog far hence, thats friend to men. And I was frightened. Here, Eliot tries again to show the ruin that love and lust can bring to the lofty spirit. The broken finger-nails of dirty hands. Another interpretation of the blank card can reflect the imperfections of the reader, Madame Sosostris. Ubuntu won't accept my choice of password. There is no reason given, ultimately, for the wreckage of the Waste Land; however, following the idea of the Fisher King, we can assume this that as the narrator suffers, so too does the world. With a wicked pack of cards. What do hollow blue circles with a dot mean on the World Map? Entering the whirlpool. Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor, Which are mountains of rock without water through the text but Baptism is also obviously significant in itself as the some are invented but analysis of the symbolic role of these cards does seem to I have always wished for some kind of forum that would help encourage me to write and share my thoughts on literature and art and life. Winter kept us warm, covering To Eliot, we are like the king of Greek myth, Ixion, who was punished for his sins by being condemned for eternity to spin through Tartarus, lashed to a fiery wheel. Earth in forgetful snow, feeding With the glory of victory seemingly at hand, young men willingly joined and become soldiers, as if they had pearls for eyes, oblivious of their fate to become 'shadow under this red rock'.
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