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T.S. Eliot (1888–1965). Poems. 1920.

4. A Cooking Egg

  • En l’an trentiesme do mon aage
  • Que toutes mes hontes j’ay beues…

  • PIPIT sate upright in her chair

    Some distance from where I was sitting;

    Views of the Oxford Colleges

    Lay on the table, with the knitting.

    Daguerreotypes and silhouettes,

    Her grandfather and great great aunts,

    Supported on the mantelpiece

    An Invitation to the Dance.


    I shall not want Honour in Heaven

    For I shall meet Sir Philip Sidney

    And have talk with Coriolanus

    And other heroes of that kidney.

    I shall not want Capital in Heaven

    For I shall meet Sir Alfred Mond:

    We two shall lie together, lapt

    In a five per cent Exchequer Bond.

    I shall not want Society in Heaven,

    Lucretia Borgia shall be my Bride;

    Her anecdotes will be more amusing

    Than Pipit’s experience could provide.

    I shall not want Pipit in Heaven:

    Madame Blavatsky will instruct me

    In the Seven Sacred Trances;

    Piccarda de Donati will conduct me…


    But where is the penny world I bought

    To eat with Pipit behind the screen?

    The red-eyed scavengers are creeping

    From Kentish Town and Golder’s Green;

    Where are the eagles and the trumpets?

    Buried beneath some snow-deep Alps.

    Over buttered scones and crumpets

    Weeping, weeping multitudes

    Droop in a hundred A.B.C.’s.