The river’s tent is broken: the last fingers of leaf
Clutch and sink into the wet bank. The wind
Crosses the brown land, unheard. The nymphs are departed.
Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song.

~   T. S. Eliot, from The Waste Land (via proustitute)
T.S. EliotpoetrylitriversleaveswindlandnymphssongThames
10.20.11 /17:51/♥ 96
Canvas  by  andbamnan