I who have sat by Thebes below the wall
  And walked among the lowest of the dead.)
  Bestows one final patronising kiss,
  And gropes his way, finding the stairs unlit . . .

  She turns and looks a moment in the glass,
  Hardly aware of her departed lover;                                     250
  Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass:
  "Well now that's done: and I'm glad it's over."
  When lovely woman stoops to folly and
  Paces about her room again, alone,
  She smoothes her hair with automatic hand,
  And puts a record on the gramophone.

  "This music crept by me upon the waters"
  And along the Strand, up Queen Victoria Street.
  O City city, I can sometimes hear
  Beside a public bar in Lower Thames Street,                             260
  The pleasant whining of a mandoline
  And a clatter and a chatter from within
  Where fishmen lounge at noon: where the walls
  Of Magnus Martyr hold
  Inexplicable splendour of Ionian white and gold.

       The river sweats
       Oil and tar
       The barges drift
       With the turning tide
       Red sails                                                          270
       Wide
       To leeward, swing on the heavy spar.
       The barges wash
       Drifting logs
       Down Greenwich reach
       Past the Isle of Dogs.
            Weialala leia
            Wallala leialala

       Elizabeth and Leicester
       Beating oars                                                       280
       The stern was formed
       A gilded shell
       Red and gold
       The brisk swell
       Rippled both shores
       Southwest wind
       Carried down stream
       The peal of bells
       White towers
            Weialala leia                                                 290
            Wallala leialala

  "Trams and dusty trees.
  Highbury bore me. Richmond and Kew
  Undid me. By Richmond I raised my knees
  Supine on the floor of a narrow canoe."

  "My feet are at Moorgate, and my heart
  Under my feet. After the event
  He wept. He promised 'a new start'.
  I made no comment. What should I resent?"
  "On Margate Sands.                                                      300
  I can connect
  Nothing with nothing.
  The broken fingernails of dirty hands.
  My people humble people who expect
  Nothing."
       la la

  To Carthage then I came

  Burning burning burning burning
  O Lord Thou pluckest me out
  O Lord Thou pluckest                                                    310

  burning

IV. DEATH BY WATER