Reading through Eliot’s Prufrock and Other Observations this morning, I came across this gem. The last two lines of the first stanza made me laugh. I love Eliot’s ability to describe what he sees.
They are rattling breakfast plates in basement kitchens,
And along the trampled edges of the street
I am aware of the damp souls of housemaids
Sprouting despondently at area gates.
The brown waves of fog toss up to me
Twisted faces from the bottom of the street,
And tear from a passer-by with muddy skirts
An aimless smile that hovers in the air
And vanishes along the level of the roofs.