I grow old . . . I grow old . . . I grow magnificently old.

I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers smoothly rolled.

I shall wear flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.

I have heard the mermaids singing, each one to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the briny waves

Combing the white hair of the waves madly blown back

When the wild wind blows the water white and black.

We linger in chambers of the sea by sea-girls wreathed

with seaweed red and brown till human voices wake us.

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Paraphrases from the poem The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot.

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