She turns and looks a moment in the glass, | |
Hardly aware of her departed lover; |
|
Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass: | |
“Well now that’s done: and I’m glad it’s over.” | |
When lovely woman stoops to folly and | |
Paces about her room again, alone, | |
She smoothes her hair with automatic hand, |
|
And puts a record on the gramophone.
/ excerpt from part III: the fire sermon, of 'the waste land' by ts eliot |