The full lines are:
"Oh, do not ask, ‘What is it?’
Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question ...
Oh, do not ask, ‘What is it?’
Let us go and make our visit.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair —
(They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”)
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin —
(They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”)
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?
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 the floor,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?
And I have known the evenings, most evenings, most evenings
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.
**And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the nights and mornings,
And the evenings, most evenings, most evenings
After the lemon-yellow silk, the cool, pale green,
And the coffee spoons,
And the nights in the one-night cheap hotels
And the sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Would it have been worth it, after all,
After the dances and the songs,
After the perfumes and the powders and the silks:
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the nights and mornings,
And the evenings, most evenings, most evenings
Oh, but for touch a hand that still and sound voice silent,
**And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the nights and mornings,
And the evenings, most evenings, most evenings**"
These lines are part of a larger reflection on the speaker's anxieties and inability to act, particularly in romantic situations.