The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

And indeed there will be time

For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,

Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;

There will be time, there will be time

To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;

There will be time to murder and create,

And time for all the works and days of hands

That lift and drop a question on your plate;

Time for you and time for me,

And time yet for a hundred indecisions,

And for a hundred visions and revisions,

Before the taking of a toast and tea.

--from T.S. Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock"

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/archive/poem.html?id=173476 

I read the poem. I have not the faintest idea, but loved this stanza. That time will hold its breath lest it goes away, that you and I will both have it--"the time to murder and create," "that lift and drop a question on your plate." I don't think Eliot uses any hard language here, although he did knock me over by the word "etherized" in the beginning. And what does it mean to have measured your life with a teaspoon, like Prufrock states he has? I cannot even dare to try and analyze this poem, or a line of it. I just like it.