Eliot contains the same ecstatic vision
“You gave me hyacinths first a year ago;
“They called me the hyacinth girl."
––Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden,
Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not
Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither
Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,
Looking into the heart of light, the silence.
Or these, from the fifth section:
My friend, blood shaking my heart
The awful daring of a moment’s surrender
Which an age of prudence can never retract
By this, and this only, we have existed
Eliot’s visions of ecstatic love are always elegiac, though: they belong to an irrecoverable past and have been replaced by the waste land of sexual and romantic emptiness. This is both a cause and an effect of the “lifeless mechanistic order” of modern culture.
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