T.S. Eliot's work sometimes lists closer to the religious exploration than I'm comfortable with, but I like the idea of the spiritually exhausted people in 'Preludes'. Here are my favourite bits, hopefully in small enlough portions to comply with whatever copyright still exists on this work.
The winter evening settles down
With smell of steaks in passageways.
The burnt-out ends of smoky days...
... One thinks of all the hands
That are raising dingy shades
In a thousand furnished rooms...
...Wipe your hand across your mouth, and laugh;
The worlds revolve like ancient women
Gathering fuel in vacant lots.
Pretty sure I've posted some Pablo Nerudo here before, but I came across a print out of this poem the other day and I'm fairly certain I haven't read it. The following are the first and last lines of 'Leaning into the Afternoons'.
Leaning into the afternoons I cast my sad nets
towards your oceanic eyes...
The night gallops on its shaowy mare
shedding blue tassels over the land.