Few lines from 'The waste land and other writing'

I love these monsoon weekends. The sound of raindrops reverberating on the roof, The red melting from the gulmohars and flowing with the water, The wet grandfatherly tree sparlking with water drops...
I have been reading 'If on a winters night a traveller' and ' The waste land and other poems' both in fragments, the way I generally read.
Here are few lines from a poem.

.....
The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes,
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.
.......
And I have known the eyes already, known them all-
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When i am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin,
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?
..........
The love song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot

Cousin Cookie...