The Duchess

The inhabitants of Hampstead have silk hats
On Sunday afternoon go out to tea
On Saturday have tennis on the lawn, and tea
On Monday to the city, and then tea.
They know what they are to feel and what to think,
They know it with the morning printer's ink
They have another Sunday when the last is gone
They know what to think and what to feel
The inhabitants of Hampstead are bound forever on the wheel.

But what is there for you and me
For me and you
What is there for us to do?
Where the leaves meet in leafy Marylebone?

In Hampstead there is nothing new
And in the evening, through lace curtains, the aspidistra grieves.

In the evening people hang upon the bridge rail
Like onions under the eaves.
In the square they lean against each other, like sheaves
Or walk like fingers on a table
Dogs eyes reaching over the table
Are in their heads when they stare
Supposing that they have the heads of birds
Beaks and no words,

What words have we?

I should like to be in a crowd of beaks without words
But it is terrible to be alone with another person.

We should have marble floors
And firelight on your hair
There will be no footsteps up and down the stair

The people leaning against another in the square
Discuss the evening's news, and other bird things.

My thoughts tonight have tails, but no wings.
They hang in clusters on the chandelier
Or drop one by one upon the floor.
Under the brush her hair
Spread out in little fiery points of will
Glowed into words, then was suddenly still.

"You have cause to love me, I did enter you in my heart
Before ever you vouchsafed to ask for the key."

With her back turned, her arms were bare
Fixed for a question, her hands behind her hair
And the firelight shining where the muscle drew.

My thoughts in a tangled bunch of heads and tails -
One suddenly released, fell to the floor
One that I knew: "Time to regain the door".
It crossed the carpet and expired on the floor.

And if I said "I love you" we should breathe
Hear music, go a-hunting, as before?
The hands relax, and the brush proceed?
Tomorrow when we open to the chambermaid
When we open the door
Could we address her or should we be afraid?
If it is terrible alone, it is sordid with one more.

If I said "I do not love you" we should breathe
The hands relax, and the brush proceed?
How terrible that it should be the same!
In the morning, when they knock upon the door
We should say: This and this is what we need
And if it rains, the closed carriage at four.
We should play a game of chess
The ivory men make company between us
We should play a game of chess
Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door.

Time to regain the door.

"When I grow old, I shall have all the court
Powder their hair with arras, to be like me.
But I know you love me, it must be that you love me."

So I suppose they found her
As she turned
To interrogate the silence fixed behind her.

—T.S. Eliot, The Death of the Duchess.