S'io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tomasse at mondo,
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma perciocche giammai di questo Jondo
Non torno vivo alcun, s'i'odo if vera,
Senza tema d'inJamia ti rispondo.
Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised 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.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the
window-panes.
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the
window-paqes
Licked its...