When the neon God-light,
had bounced from Saturn's sad rings:
the lost men and Gods burnt out,
sputtered, crashed, and slept.

Dr. T. J. Eckleburg, whose
eyes, sun-faded and worn,
behind peeling spectacles,
can watch us in the gardens
of ash...

wearing the blowing
burnt-out soul residue that

caught us, as fig leaves
in ashen Eden.