Preludes

With smells 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 his 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

By

T. S. Eliot