Media Prufrock

credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo
Non vivo alcun, s'i'odo vero,
Senza tema dinfamia ti rispondo.

Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out the sky
Like a etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow a tedious Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question ...
Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"
Let us go and make our visit.