t s eliot

And would it have been worth it, after all
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me
Would it have been worth while
To have bitten off the matter with a smile
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”—
If one, settling a pillow by her head
Should say: “That is not what I meant at all
That is not it, at all.”