Time and the bell have buried the day,
The black cloud carries the sun away,
Will the sunflower turn to us, will the clematis
Stray down, bend to us; tendril and spray
Clutch and cling?
Chill
Fingers of yew be curled
Down on us? Ater the kingfisher's wing
Has answered light to light, and is silent, the light is still
At the still point of the turning world.
from Burnt Norton (written 1935), one of Eliot's Four Quartets
Chosen at random ... from a random book -
from the shelf -
opened to a random page -
The book is the Folio Society edition, 1968, and has stood unopened for many years.
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