Close Menu
WorldAuthors.Org
    Facebook X (Twitter) Instagram
    Trending
    • How Book Covers Influence Readers to Pick Up the Book
    • We Wear the Mask by Paul Laurence Dunbar
    • South Wales Pop Rising Star MACY Returns with Playful New Single “Please Keep Talking”
    • Mercury in the first house in Vedic Astrology
    • Rahul Gandhi Challenges Government Over Unpublished Book Four Stars of Destiny
    Facebook X (Twitter) Instagram YouTube
    WorldAuthors.OrgWorldAuthors.Org
    • BOOKS
    • INTERVIEWS
    • MUSIC
    • MOVIES & SHOWS
    • POEMS
    • STORIES
    • SPIRITUAL
    • NEWS & ARTICLES
    WorldAuthors.Org
    Home»Poems»The Hollow Men by T S Eliot
    Poems

    The Hollow Men by T S Eliot

    WAO TeamBy WAO TeamOctober 13, 2025No Comments4 Mins Read
    Poem The Hollow Men by T S Eliot
    Share
    Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Pinterest Email

    Published in 1925, The Hollow Men is a poem by T.S. Eliot. It talks about the spiritual and moral barrenness of post-World War I. The poem covers themes of despair, decay, and disillusionment. Divided into five parts, The Hollow Men makes a commentary on people lacking individuality. T.S. Eliot’s poem perfectly captures the sense of trauma and disillusionment following World War I.

    Mistah Kurtz – he dead.
    A Penny for the Old Guy

                                  I

    We are the hollow men 
    We are the stuffed men 
    Leaning together
    Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
    Our dried voices, when 
    We whisper together 
    Are quiet and meaningless
    As wind in dry grass 
    Or rats’ feet over broken glass
    In our dry cellar

    Shape without form, shade without colour. 
    Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

    Those who have crossed
    With direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom
    Remember us—if at all—not as lost 
    Violent souls, but only 
    As the hollow men 

                                  II

    Eyes I dare not meet in dreams 
    In death’s dream kingdom 
    These do not appear:
    There, the eyes are 
    Sunlight on a broken column 
    There, is a tree swinging
    And voices are 
    In the wind’s singing 
    More distant and more solemn 
    Than a fading star.

    Let me be no nearer 
    In death’s dream kingdom 
    Let me also wear
    Such deliberate disguises
    Rat’s coat, crowskin, crossed staves
    In a field
    Behaving as the wind behaves 
    No nearer—

    Not that final meeting 
    In the twilight kingdom

                                  III

    This is the dead land
    This is cactus land
    Here the stone images
    Are raised, here they receive
    The supplication of a dead man’s hand
    Under the twinkle of a fading star.

    Is it like this
    In death’s other kingdom
    Waking alone
    At the hour when we are 
    Trembling with tenderness 
    Lips that would kiss
    Form prayers to broken stone.

                                  IV

    The eyes are not here 
    There are no eyes here 
    In this valley of dying stars 
    In this hollow valley
    This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

    In this last of meeting places 
    We grope together 
    And avoid speech
    Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

    Sightless, unless 
    The eyes reappear 
    As the perpetual star
    Multifoliate rose 
    Of death’s twilight kingdom 
    The hope only 
    Of empty men.

                                  V

    Here we go round the prickly pear 
    Prickly pear prickly pear 
    Here we go round the prickly pear 
    At five o’clock in the morning.

    Between the idea 
    And the reality 
    Between the motion 
    And the act 
    Falls the Shadow

    For Thine is the Kingdom

    Between the conception 
    And the creation
    Between the emotion 
    And the response 
    Falls the Shadow

    Life is very long

    Between the desire 
    And the spasm 
    Between the potency 
    And the existence 
    Between the essence 
    And the descent 
    Falls the Shadow

    For Thine is the Kingdom

    For Thine is 
    Life is
    For Thine is the

    This is the way the world ends 
    This is the way the world ends 
    This is the way the world ends 
    Not with a bang but a whimper.

    Share. Facebook Twitter Pinterest LinkedIn WhatsApp Reddit Tumblr Email

    Related Posts

    We Wear the Mask by Paul Laurence Dunbar

    February 7, 2026

    The Windhover by Gerard Manley Hopkins

    January 27, 2026

    The Summer Day by Mary Oliver

    January 14, 2026
    Interviews

    Finding Meaning in Chaos: Laurent Grenier on Life Revisited and the Intersection of Philosophy and Science

    January 16, 2026

    Interview with Nate Franchesco on The Spiritual Discipline of a Musician

    December 24, 2025

    Simon Rose: Storytelling Across Worlds and Generations at the RV Book Fair 2025

    December 19, 2025
    Stay In Touch
    • Facebook
    • Twitter
    • Pinterest
    • Instagram
    • YouTube
    • LinkedIn
    • WhatsApp
    • Spotify
    Facebook X (Twitter) Instagram YouTube LinkedIn
    • Writing Workshop
    • Writing Competition
    • Authors & Poets
    • Press Release
    • Terms Of Service
    • About Us
    • Contact
    ©2024 WorldAuthors.Org

    Type above and press Enter to search. Press Esc to cancel.