The winter evening settles down. With smell of steaks in passageways. Six o'clock. The burnt-out ends of smoky days. And now a gusty shower wraps. The grimy scraps. Of withered leaves about your feet. And newspapers from vacant lots; The showers beat. On broken blinds and chimney-pots, And at the corner of the street. A lonely cab-horse steams and stamps. And then the lighting of the lamps.
T. S. EliotAbout author
- Author's profession: Poet
- Nationality: american
- Born: September 26, 1888
- Died: January 4, 1965
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