Tag Archives: The Waste Land

Eliot’s Month, Not Mine

cywydd deuair hyrion April is the cruelest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain. — T.S. Eliot, from The Waste Land Again the winds are playing like knives, and … Continue reading

Posted in Poems | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment