Jellicle Cats

Knowing me, you won't be surprised to hear, that I'm calooing and calaying all around the library. Yes, about a paper. Yes, about dead white guy poets. What you might be surprised to hear, is that it's a paper on Dante. And T. S. Eliot. And pyromania.

...

Actually, that's probably not very surprising, either. But anyway, I just wanted to say, it always amazes me how this:

Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future
And time future contained in time past.
If all time is eternally present
All time is unredeemable.
What might have been is an abstraction
Remaining a perpetual possibility
Only in a world of speculation.
What might have been and what has been
Points to one end, which is always present.
Footfalls echo in the memory
Down the passage which we did not take
Towards the door we never opened
Into the rose-garden. My words echo
Thus, in your mind.

And this:

Growltiger was a Bravo Cat, who travelled on a barge:
In fact he was the roughest cat that ever roamed at large.
From Gravesend up to Oxford [yay!] he purused his evil aims,
Rejoicing in his title of 'The Terror of the Thames.'

[and for those of you who don't know, yes, the Thames does reach up all this way, with its long and bony fingers, and touches the tip of the city, so you really can go punting ... on the Thames ... in Oxford. Just usually not in the middle of November. Though I hear that April is a cruel month, too.]

... were written by one and the same individual.

Just wanted to share :D