He may have been an old-fashioned, tea-shop frequenting intellectual of the old school, but TS Eliot certainly could write poetry. This slender volume contains 'The Wasteland', 'Prufrock' and several other poems, and all at the bargain-basement price of 69 pence. How can it fail? My only regret is that, as the product of a comprehensive school, I, like the majority of potential readers, have no idea what the Latin and Greek quotes actually mean. But that's small criticism. And April IS definitely the cruellest month, he's quite right there.
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