In "The Waste Land," the speaker isn't fixed. Eliot shifts between a traumatized modern woman, a chat in a pub, a figure by the Thames, and a voice referencing the Upanishads — to name a few. The 'I' continually fades away. This is intentional: the cohesive self that can stand up and make declarations is precisely what the poem argues has been lost.
"The Second Coming" features one consistent speaker — an authoritative 'I' who watches the widening gyre, receives the vision, and poses the final question. Yeats is drawing from the prophetic tradition, and the poem's strength comes from that singular voice remaining firm while the world it depicts unravels.
"The Waste Land" consists of fragments: five sections, various languages, sudden shifts in tone, and lines of verse broken up by prose rhythms, with quotes from other texts inserted unexpectedly. This structure reflects the idea that a civilization fragmented produces a poem that is also fragmented.
"The Second Coming" consists of twenty-two lines written in loose iambic pentameter, united by a singular, powerful vision. The structure is tight and nearly classical in its coherence. Yeats creates his impact through accumulation and one striking shift, rather than through fragmentation.
"The Waste Land" presents the wasteland itself — a parched, drained landscape where water (symbolizing life, renewal, and baptism) is painfully missing. The Fisher King rests beside a lifeless river. The Thames is strewn with remnants of commerce and unfulfilled love. The main image depicts a world that has depleted its most essential resource.
"The Second Coming" introduces the Sphinx-like beast: "A shape with lion body and the head of a man, / A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun." This figure doesn't represent a void but rather a terrifying, indifferent presence — something monstrous is on its way, not something vital is fading away. The threat is approaching, not already present.
"The Waste Land" concludes with a mosaic of fragments in various languages — lines from Dante, a nursery rhyme, a Sanskrit blessing — alongside the repeated word "Shantih," which is a formal peace chant from the Upanishads. This ending resists finality. The speaker piles up ruins against ruins, presenting a peace that feels unattainable given the poem's context.
"The Second Coming" concludes with a haunting question: "And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, / Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?" Although Yeats has already revealed what the beast represents, this rhetorical question compels the reader to linger in the feeling of dread instead of simply delivering a conclusion. This ending is more deliberate and theatrical than Eliot's, and it has become more memorable in quotes.