T.S. Eliot

This is the dead land This is cactus land Here the stone images are raised Here they receive the supplication of a dead man's hand Under the twinkle of a fading star Is it like this in death's other kingdom Waking alone? At the hour when we are trembling with tenderness Lips that would kiss Form prayers to broken stone. T.S. Eliot, "The Hollow Men"

What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man, You cannot say, or guess, for you know only A heap of broken images, where the sun beats, And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief, And the dry stone no sound of water. Only There is shadow under this red rock (Come in under the shadow of this red rock), And I will show you something different from either Your shadow at morning striding behind you Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you; I will show you fear in a handful of dust. T.S. Eliot, "The Wasteland"