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Morning at the window
a poem by T S Eliot

Morning at the Window

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. 

T. S. Eliot


Morning at the window
poem - T S Eliot


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