The Full Text of “Portrait of a Lady”
Thou hast committed —
Fornication: but that was in another country,
And besides, the wench is dead.
(The Jew of Malta)
I
1Among the smoke and fog of a December afternoon
2You have the scene arrange itself — as it will seem to do—
3With "I have saved this afternoon for you";
4And four wax candles in the darkened room,
5Four rings of light upon the ceiling overhead,
6An atmosphere of Juliet's tomb
7Prepared for all the things to be said, or left unsaid.
8We have been, let us say, to hear the latest Pole
9Transmit the Preludes, through his hair and finger-tips.
10"So intimate, this Chopin, that I think his soul
11Should be resurrected only among friends
12Some two or three, who will not touch the bloom
13That is rubbed and questioned in the concert room."
14—And so the conversation slips
15Among velleities and carefully caught regrets
16Through attenuated tones of violins
17Mingled with remote cornets
18And begins.
19"You do not know how much they mean to me, my friends,
20And how, how rare and strange it is, to find
21In a life composed so much, so much of odds and ends,
22(For indeed I do not love it ... you knew? you are not blind!
23How keen you are!)
24To find a friend who has these qualities,
25Who has, and gives
26Those qualities upon which friendship lives.
27How much it means that I say this to you —
28Without these friendships — life, what cauchemar!"
29Among the winding of the violins
30And the ariettes
31Of cracked cornets
32Inside my brain a dull tom-tom begins
33Absurdly hammering a prelude of its own,
34Capricious monotone
35That is at least one definite "false note."
36— Let us take the air, in a tobacco trance,
37Admire the monuments,
38Discuss the late events,
39Correct our watches by the public clocks.
40Then sit for half an hour and drink our bocks.
II
41Now that lilacs are in bloom
42She has a bowl of lilacs in her room
43And twists one in her fingers while she talks.
44"Ah, my friend, you do not know, you do not know
45What life is, you who hold it in your hands";
46(Slowly twisting the lilac stalks)
47"You let it flow from you, you let it flow,
48And youth is cruel, and has no remorse
49And smiles at situations which it cannot see."
50I smile, of course,
51And go on drinking tea.
52"Yet with these April sunsets, that somehow recall
53My buried life, and Paris in the Spring,
54I feel immeasurably at peace, and find the world
55To be wonderful and youthful, after all."
56The voice returns like the insistent out-of-tune
57Of a broken violin on an August afternoon:
58"I am always sure that you understand
59My feelings, always sure that you feel,
60Sure that across the gulf you reach your hand.
61You are invulnerable, you have no Achilles' heel.
62You will go on, and when you have prevailed
63You can say: at this point many a one has failed.
64But what have I, but what have I, my friend,
65To give you, what can you receive from me?
66Only the friendship and the sympathy
67Of one about to reach her journey's end.
68I shall sit here, serving tea to friends ...."
69I take my hat: how can I make a cowardly amends
70For what she has said to me?
71You will see me any morning in the park
72Reading the comics and the sporting page.
73Particularly I remark.
74An English countess goes upon the stage.
75A Greek was murdered at a Polish dance,
76Another bank defaulter has confessed.
77I keep my countenance,
78I remain self-possessed
79Except when a street-piano, mechanical and tired
80Reiterates some worn-out common song
81With the smell of hyacinths across the garden
82Recalling things that other people have desired.
83Are these ideas right or wrong?
III
84The October night comes down; returning as before
85Except for a slight sensation of being ill at ease
86I mount the stairs and turn the handle of the door
87And feel as if I had mounted on my hands and knees.
88"And so you are going abroad; and when do you return?
89But that's a useless question.
90You hardly know when you are coming back,
91You will find so much to learn."
92My smile falls heavily among the bric-à-brac.
93"Perhaps you can write to me."
94My self-possession flares up for a second;
95This is as I had reckoned.
96"I have been wondering frequently of late
97(But our beginnings never know our ends!)
98Why we have not developed into friends."
99I feel like one who smiles, and turning shall remark
100Suddenly, his expression in a glass.
101My self-possession gutters; we are really in the dark.
102"For everybody said so, all our friends,
103They all were sure our feelings would relate
104So closely! I myself can hardly understand.
105We must leave it now to fate.
106You will write, at any rate.
107Perhaps it is not too late.
108I shall sit here, serving tea to friends."
109And I must borrow every changing shape
110To find expression ... dance, dance
111Like a dancing bear,
112Cry like a parrot, chatter like an ape.
113Let us take the air, in a tobacco trance—
114Well! and what if she should die some afternoon,
115Afternoon grey and smoky, evening yellow and rose;
116Should die and leave me sitting pen in hand
117With the smoke coming down above the housetops;
118Doubtful, for quite a while
119Not knowing what to feel or if I understand
120Or whether wise or foolish, tardy or too soon ...
121Would she not have the advantage, after all?
122This music is successful with a "dying fall"
123Now that we talk of dying—
124And should I have the right to smile?
The Full Text of “Portrait of a Lady”
Thou hast committed —
Fornication: but that was in another country,
And besides, the wench is dead.
(The Jew of Malta)
I
1Among the smoke and fog of a December afternoon
2You have the scene arrange itself — as it will seem to do—
3With "I have saved this afternoon for you";
4And four wax candles in the darkened room,
5Four rings of light upon the ceiling overhead,
6An atmosphere of Juliet's tomb
7Prepared for all the things to be said, or left unsaid.
8We have been, let us say, to hear the latest Pole
9Transmit the Preludes, through his hair and finger-tips.
10"So intimate, this Chopin, that I think his soul
11Should be resurrected only among friends
12Some two or three, who will not touch the bloom
13That is rubbed and questioned in the concert room."
14—And so the conversation slips
15Among velleities and carefully caught regrets
16Through attenuated tones of violins
17Mingled with remote cornets
18And begins.
19"You do not know how much they mean to me, my friends,
20And how, how rare and strange it is, to find
21In a life composed so much, so much of odds and ends,
22(For indeed I do not love it ... you knew? you are not blind!
23How keen you are!)
24To find a friend who has these qualities,
25Who has, and gives
26Those qualities upon which friendship lives.
27How much it means that I say this to you —
28Without these friendships — life, what cauchemar!"
29Among the winding of the violins
30And the ariettes
31Of cracked cornets
32Inside my brain a dull tom-tom begins
33Absurdly hammering a prelude of its own,
34Capricious monotone
35That is at least one definite "false note."
36— Let us take the air, in a tobacco trance,
37Admire the monuments,
38Discuss the late events,
39Correct our watches by the public clocks.
40Then sit for half an hour and drink our bocks.
II
41Now that lilacs are in bloom
42She has a bowl of lilacs in her room
43And twists one in her fingers while she talks.
44"Ah, my friend, you do not know, you do not know
45What life is, you who hold it in your hands";
46(Slowly twisting the lilac stalks)
47"You let it flow from you, you let it flow,
48And youth is cruel, and has no remorse
49And smiles at situations which it cannot see."
50I smile, of course,
51And go on drinking tea.
52"Yet with these April sunsets, that somehow recall
53My buried life, and Paris in the Spring,
54I feel immeasurably at peace, and find the world
55To be wonderful and youthful, after all."
56The voice returns like the insistent out-of-tune
57Of a broken violin on an August afternoon:
58"I am always sure that you understand
59My feelings, always sure that you feel,
60Sure that across the gulf you reach your hand.
61You are invulnerable, you have no Achilles' heel.
62You will go on, and when you have prevailed
63You can say: at this point many a one has failed.
64But what have I, but what have I, my friend,
65To give you, what can you receive from me?
66Only the friendship and the sympathy
67Of one about to reach her journey's end.
68I shall sit here, serving tea to friends ...."
69I take my hat: how can I make a cowardly amends
70For what she has said to me?
71You will see me any morning in the park
72Reading the comics and the sporting page.
73Particularly I remark.
74An English countess goes upon the stage.
75A Greek was murdered at a Polish dance,
76Another bank defaulter has confessed.
77I keep my countenance,
78I remain self-possessed
79Except when a street-piano, mechanical and tired
80Reiterates some worn-out common song
81With the smell of hyacinths across the garden
82Recalling things that other people have desired.
83Are these ideas right or wrong?
III
84The October night comes down; returning as before
85Except for a slight sensation of being ill at ease
86I mount the stairs and turn the handle of the door
87And feel as if I had mounted on my hands and knees.
88"And so you are going abroad; and when do you return?
89But that's a useless question.
90You hardly know when you are coming back,
91You will find so much to learn."
92My smile falls heavily among the bric-à-brac.
93"Perhaps you can write to me."
94My self-possession flares up for a second;
95This is as I had reckoned.
96"I have been wondering frequently of late
97(But our beginnings never know our ends!)
98Why we have not developed into friends."
99I feel like one who smiles, and turning shall remark
100Suddenly, his expression in a glass.
101My self-possession gutters; we are really in the dark.
102"For everybody said so, all our friends,
103They all were sure our feelings would relate
104So closely! I myself can hardly understand.
105We must leave it now to fate.
106You will write, at any rate.
107Perhaps it is not too late.
108I shall sit here, serving tea to friends."
109And I must borrow every changing shape
110To find expression ... dance, dance
111Like a dancing bear,
112Cry like a parrot, chatter like an ape.
113Let us take the air, in a tobacco trance—
114Well! and what if she should die some afternoon,
115Afternoon grey and smoky, evening yellow and rose;
116Should die and leave me sitting pen in hand
117With the smoke coming down above the housetops;
118Doubtful, for quite a while
119Not knowing what to feel or if I understand
120Or whether wise or foolish, tardy or too soon ...
121Would she not have the advantage, after all?
122This music is successful with a "dying fall"
123Now that we talk of dying—
124And should I have the right to smile?
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“Portrait of a Lady” Introduction
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“Portrait of a Lady” Summary
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“Portrait of a Lady” Themes
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The Shallowness and Monotony of Modern Life
- See where this theme is active in the poem.
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Propriety, Communication, and Isolation
- See where this theme is active in the poem.
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The Pitfalls of Youth
- See where this theme is active in the poem.
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Line-by-Line Explanation & Analysis of “Portrait of a Lady”
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Before Line 1
Thou hast committed —
Fornication: but that was in another country,
And besides, the wench is dead.
(The Jew of Malta) -
Lines 1-7
Among the smoke and fog of a December afternoon
You have the scene arrange itself — as it will seem to do—
With "I have saved this afternoon for you";
And four wax candles in the darkened room,
Four rings of light upon the ceiling overhead,
An atmosphere of Juliet's tomb
Prepared for all the things to be said, or left unsaid. -
Lines 8-13
We have been, let us say, to hear the latest Pole
Transmit the Preludes, through his hair and finger-tips.
"So intimate, this Chopin, that I think his soul
Should be resurrected only among friends
Some two or three, who will not touch the bloom
That is rubbed and questioned in the concert room." -
Lines 14-18
—And so the conversation slips
Among velleities and carefully caught regrets
Through attenuated tones of violins
Mingled with remote cornets
And begins. -
Lines 19-28
"You do not know how much they mean to me, my friends,
And how, how rare and strange it is, to find
In a life composed so much, so much of odds and ends,
(For indeed I do not love it ... you knew? you are not blind!
How keen you are!)
To find a friend who has these qualities,
Who has, and gives
Those qualities upon which friendship lives.
How much it means that I say this to you —
Without these friendships — life, what
cauchemar
!" -
Lines 29-35
Among the winding of the violins
And the ariettes
Of cracked cornets
Inside my brain a dull tom-tom begins
Absurdly hammering a prelude of its own,
Capricious monotone
That is at least one definite "false note." -
Lines 36-40
— Let us take the air, in a tobacco trance,
Admire the monuments,
Discuss the late events,
Correct our watches by the public clocks.
Then sit for half an hour and drink our bocks. -
Lines 41-45
Now that lilacs are in bloom
She has a bowl of lilacs in her room
And twists one in her fingers while she talks.
"Ah, my friend, you do not know, you do not know
What life is, you who hold it in your hands"; -
Lines 46-51
(Slowly twisting the lilac stalks)
"You let it flow from you, you let it flow,
And youth is cruel, and has no remorse
And smiles at situations which it cannot see."
I smile, of course,
And go on drinking tea. -
Lines 52-60
"Yet with these April sunsets, that somehow recall
My buried life, and Paris in the Spring,
I feel immeasurably at peace, and find the world
To be wonderful and youthful, after all."
The voice returns like the insistent out-of-tune
Of a broken violin on an August afternoon:
"I am always sure that you understand
My feelings, always sure that you feel,
Sure that across the gulf you reach your hand. -
Lines 61-68
You are invulnerable, you have no Achilles' heel.
You will go on, and when you have prevailed
You can say: at this point many a one has failed.
But what have I, but what have I, my friend,
To give you, what can you receive from me?
Only the friendship and the sympathy
Of one about to reach her journey's end.
I shall sit here, serving tea to friends ...." -
Lines 69-76
I take my hat: how can I make a cowardly amends
For what she has said to me?
You will see me any morning in the park
Reading the comics and the sporting page.
Particularly I remark.
An English countess goes upon the stage.
A Greek was murdered at a Polish dance,
Another bank defaulter has confessed. -
Lines 77-83
I keep my countenance,
I remain self-possessed
Except when a street-piano, mechanical and tired
Reiterates some worn-out common song
With the smell of hyacinths across the garden
Recalling things that other people have desired.
Are these ideas right or wrong? -
Lines 84-92
The October night comes down; returning as before
Except for a slight sensation of being ill at ease
I mount the stairs and turn the handle of the door
And feel as if I had mounted on my hands and knees.
"And so you are going abroad; and when do you return?
But that's a useless question.
You hardly know when you are coming back,
You will find so much to learn."
My smile falls heavily among the bric-à-brac. -
Lines 93-101
"Perhaps you can write to me."
My self-possession flares up for a second;
This
is as I had reckoned.
"I have been wondering frequently of late
(But our beginnings never know our ends!)
Why we have not developed into friends."
I feel like one who smiles, and turning shall remark
Suddenly, his expression in a glass.
My self-possession gutters; we are really in the dark. -
Lines 102-108
"For everybody said so, all our friends,
They all were sure our feelings would relate
So closely! I myself can hardly understand.
We must leave it now to fate.
You will write, at any rate.
Perhaps it is not too late.
I shall sit here, serving tea to friends." -
Lines 109-113
And I must borrow every changing shape
To find expression ... dance, dance
Like a dancing bear,
Cry like a parrot, chatter like an ape.
Let us take the air, in a tobacco trance— -
Lines 114-120
Well! and what if she should die some afternoon,
Afternoon grey and smoky, evening yellow and rose;
Should die and leave me sitting pen in hand
With the smoke coming down above the housetops;
Doubtful, for quite a while
Not knowing what to feel or if I understand
Or whether wise or foolish, tardy or too soon ... -
Lines 121-124
Would she not have the advantage, after all?
This music is successful with a "dying fall"
Now that we talk of dying—
And should I have the right to smile?
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“Portrait of a Lady” Symbols
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Smoke and Fog
- See where this symbol appears in the poem.
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The Seasons, Spring, and Flowers
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Music
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“Portrait of a Lady” Poetic Devices & Figurative Language
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Alliteration
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Allusion
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Anaphora
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Assonance
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Consonance
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Enjambment
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Imagery
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Juxtaposition
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Irony
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Metaphor
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Repetition
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Rhetorical Question
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Simile
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Stream of Consciousness
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“Portrait of a Lady” Vocabulary
Select any word below to get its definition in the context of the poem. The words are listed in the order in which they appear in the poem.
- Fornication
- Wench
- The Jew of Malta
- Juliet's Tomb
- Chopin
- Prelude
- Resurrected
- Velleities
- Attenuated
- Remote
- Cornet
- Keen
- Cauchemar
- Ariette
- Tom-tom
- Capricious
- Monotone
- "False Note"
- Bock
- Buried Life
- Gulf
- Invulnerable
- Achilles' Heel
- Make A Cowardly Amends
- Countess
- Bank Defaulter
- Keep My Countenance
- Self-Possessed
- Hyacinth
- Mount
- Bric-à-brac
- Reckoned
- Gutter
- Tardy
- "Dying fall"
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- See where this vocabulary word appears in the poem.
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Form, Meter, & Rhyme Scheme of “Portrait of a Lady”
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Form
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Meter
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Rhyme Scheme
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“Portrait of a Lady” Speaker
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“Portrait of a Lady” Setting
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Literary and Historical Context of “Portrait of a Lady”
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More “Portrait of a Lady” Resources
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External Resources
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T. S. Eliot Reads "Portrait of a Lady" — Listen to the author read the poem aloud.
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First Edition — Look through digital scans of a first edition copy of "Prufrock and Other Observations," the 1917 collection in which this poem appears.
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The Poet's Failed Romance — Learn more about Eliot’s recently unveiled correspondences with Emily Hale, which he did not want to become public.
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Biography of the Poet — Browse this thorough profile of Eliot, which details his personal life, poetic output, and other cultural contributions.
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The Turn of the 20th Century — Take a look at this snapshot of American life during the early 20th century.
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An Introduction to Modernism — Read an overview of Modernism, the artistic movement that Eliot helped advance.
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The Art of Poetry Interview — A conversation with the poet from 1959, launching the popular and long-running "Art of Poetry" interview series from literary magazine The Paris Review.
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LitCharts on Other Poems by T. S. Eliot
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