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.
Morning At The Window
T. S. Eliot
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Poem topics: fog, smile, brown, tear, level, street, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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Morning At The Window is a poem by T. S. Eliot. This page includes the poem text, poet information, related topics, comments, and similar poems.
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