Abril 18, 2013
What we call the beginning is often the end
And to make an end is to make a beginning.
The end is where we start from.
We die with the dying:
See, they depart, and we go with them.
We are born with the dead:
See, they return, and bring us with them.
The moment of the rose and the moment of the yew-tree
Are of equal duration. A people without history
Is not redeemed from time, for history is a pattern
Of timeless moments. So, while the light fails
On a winter’s afternoon, in a secluded chapel
History is now and England.
With the drawing of this Love and the voice of this Calling
We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
T. S. Eliot (1888-1965)
Little Gidding (1942) from Four Quartets
poema publicado como epígrafe do missal das cerimónias fúnebres de Margaret Thatcher