T.S. Eliot - First Debate between the Body and Soul lyrics

First Debate between the Body and Soul The August wind is shambling down the street A blind old man who coughs and spits sputters Stumbling among the alleys and the gutters. He pokes and prods With senile patience The withered leaves Of our sensations — And yet devoted to the pure idea One sits delaying in the vacant square Forced to endure the blind inconscient stare Of twenty leering houses that exude The odour of their turpitude And a street piano through the dusty trees Insisting: “Make the best of your position” — The pure Idea dies of inanition The street pianos through the trees Whine and wheeze. Imaginations Masturbations The withered leaves Of our sensations — The eye retains the images, The sluggish brain will not react Nor distils The dull precipitates of fact The emphatic mud of physical sense The cosmic smudge of an enormous thumb Posting bills On the soul. And always come The whine and wheeze Of street pianos through the streets Imagination's Poor relations The withered leaves Of our sensations. Absolute! complete idealist A supersubtle peasant (Conception most unpleasant) A supersubtle peasant in a shabby square Assist me to the pure idea — 40 Regarding nature without love or fear For a little while, a little while Standing our ground — Till life evaporates into a smile Simple and profound. Street pianos through the trees Whine and wheeze Imagination's Defecations The withered leaves Of our sensations —