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Let
us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread
out against the sky
Like a patient etherized
upon a table;
Let us go, through certain
half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in
one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants
with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a
tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an
overwhelming question ...
Oh, do not ask, “What is
it?”
Let us go and make our
visit.
T.S. Elliot The love of
song
