d my song,

    S tly, for I speak not loud or long.

    But at my back in a cold blast I hear

    ttle of to ear.

    A rat crept softly tation

    Dragging its slimy belly on the bank

    he dull canal

    On a er evening round behe gashouse

    Musing upon thers wreck

    And on th before him.

    e bodies naked on the low damp ground

    And bones cast in a little lo,

    Rattled by ts foot only, year to year.

    But at my back from time to time I hear

    tors, which shall bring

    So Mrs. Porter in the spring.

    O t on Mrs. Porter

    And on er

    t in soda er

    Et O ces voix denfants, cant dans la coupole!

    t t t

    Jug jug jug jug jug jug

    So rudely forcd.

    tereu

    Unreal City

    Under ter noon

    Mr. Eugenides, t

    Uns full of currants

    C.i.f. London: documents at sight,

    Asked me in demotic French

    to lunc treet el

    Follo tropole.

    At t he eyes and back

    turn ups

    Like a taxi ting,

    I tiresias, two lives,

    Old man s, can see

    At t  strives

    he sailor home from sea,

    typist  teatime, clears , lights

    ove, and lays out food in tins.

    Out of the window perilously spread

    ions touc rays,

    On t night her bed)

    Stockings, slippers, camisoles, and stays.

    I tiresias, old man h wrinkled dugs

    Perceived told t -

    I too aed ted guest.

    he young man ca