IV. Death by Water from The Waste Land by T.S. Eliot
PHLEBAS the Phoenician, a fortnight dead, | |
| Forgot the cry of gulls, and the deep seas swell | |
| And the profit and loss. | |
| A current under sea | 315 |
| Picked his bones in whispers. As he rose and fell | |
| He passed the stages of his age and youth | |
| Entering the whirlpool. | |
| Gentile or Jew | |
| O you who turn the wheel and look to windward, | 320 |
| Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you. |
