document.write("April is the cruellest month, breeding<br />Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing<br />Memory and desire, stirring<br />Dull roots with spring rain.<br />Winter kept us warm, covering<br />Earth in forgetful snow, feeding<br />A little life with dried tubers.<br />Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee<br />With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,<br />And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,<br />And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.<br />Bin gar kine Russin, stamm\\\' aus Litauen, echt deutsch.<br />And when we were children, staying at the archduke\\\'s,<br />My cousin\\\'s, he took me out on a sled,<br />And I was frightened. He said, Marie,<br />Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.<br />In the mountains, there you feel free.<br />I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.<br /><br />   What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow.<br />Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,<br />You cannot say, or guess, for you know only<br />A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,<br />And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,<br />And the dry stone no sound of water. Only<br />There is shadow under this red rock,<br />(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),<br />And I will show you something different from either<br />Your shadow at morning striding behind you<br />Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;<br />I will show you fear in a handful of dust.");