«The women come and go talking of Michelangelo»

Let us go then, you and I,

When the evening is spread out against the sky

Like a patient etherized upon a table;

Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,

The muttering retreats

Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels

And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:

Streets that follow like a tedious argument

Of insidious intent

To lead you to an overwhelming question ...

Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"

 

Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go

Talking of Michelangelo.

(...)

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock. T.S. Eliot