“Memory and Desire”

What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish?

Son of man, you cannot say, or guess
For you know only
A heap of broken images.

I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you

Or your shadow at evening
rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.

Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death’s dream kingdom
These do not appear:

There, the eyes are
Sun light on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging

And voices are
In the wind’s singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.