The winter evening settles down
With smell of steaks in passageways.
Six o'clock.
The burnt-out ends of smoky days.
And now a gusty shower wraps
The grimy scraps
Of withered leaves about your feet
And newspapers from vacant lots;
The showers beat
On broken blinds and chimney-pots,
And at the corner of the street
A lonely cab-horse steams and stamps.
And then the lighting of the lamps.

by T. S. Eliot

Comments (3)

there are not full poem only one stanza
Yup, he's right. The full version of the poem is listed under Thomas Stearns Eliot.
This ain't the whole poem, folks! It's only the prelude to Preludes.