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contrast... Thou hast existed as a part; thou shalt disappear into that which produced thee. This, too, nature wills. Pass then through this little space of time conformably to nature and end thy journey in content, just as the olive falls when it is ripe, thanking the tree on which it grew and blessing the nature that gave it birth.
The Wasteland: What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man, 20 You cannot say, or guess, for you know only A heap of broken images, where the sun beats, And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief, And the dry stone no sound of water.