![Thomas Stearns Eliot-Growltiger's Last Stand](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVhICuJObpjwRZXWKuHI_1bik7Lqpa4TX5y0NqXboblKH5eki3Yc6vODNsiIvUNknzvGPkpu-PX1tmodGd0RLuNV7dQk8WXNBcDeCDqmlVbVH5AAXW5JwE0ZDqWsUhofgfXDW3QaQJtjs/d-rw/Thomas-Stearns-Eliot.jpg)
Sunday: this satisfied procession
Of definite Sunday faces;
Bonnets, silk hats, and conscious graces
In repetition that displaces
Your mental self-possession
By this unwarranted digression.
Evening, lights, and tea!
Children and cats in the alley;
Dejection unable to rally
Against this dull conspiracy.
And Life, a little bald and gray,
Languid, fastidious, and bland,
Waits, hat and gloves in hand,
Punctilious of tie and suit
(Somewhat impatient of delay)
On the doorstep of the Absolute.