Lay me anywhere you like,
For bottles sans wine don't amuse.
Say, let me sleep in dark night,
Cry you aloud, my ears refuse,
Image lost: poet recluse.

They cursed, howled, in a dim sight,
For words my own're lost in muse.
Dead poet now is shown the light,
Cry you aloud, my ears refuse,
Image lost: poet recluse.


By Rajasir

Note:
This poem is dedicated to T.S.Eliot's contemporary A.E.Houseman who was shaded by the dazzle of Eliot and now people rarely remember him.
I have used his rhyme scheme ababb, ababb.