Sunday: this satisfied procession <br />Of definite Sunday faces; <br />Bonnets, silk hats, and conscious graces <br />In repetition that displaces <br />Your mental self-possession <br />By this unwarranted digression. <br /> <br />Evening, lights, and tea! <br />Children and cats in the alley; <br />Dejection unable to rally <br />Against this dull conspiracy. <br /> <br />And Life, a little bald and gray, <br />Languid, fastidious, and bland, <br />Waits, hat and gloves in hand, <br />Punctilious of tie and suit <br />(Somewhat impatient of delay) <br />On the doorstep of the Absolute.<br /><br />Thomas Stearns Eliot<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/spleen-3/
