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The Second Coming
| Turning and turning in the widening gyre | | The falcon cannot hear the falconer; | | Things fall apart; the centre
cannot hold; | | Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, | | The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere | | The ceremony of innocence is drowned; | | The best lack all conviction, while the worst | | Are full of passionate
intensity. | | | | | | Surely some revelation is at hand; | | Surely the Second Coming is at hand. | | The Second Coming!
Hardly are those words out | | When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi | | Troubles my sight: somewhere
in sands of the desert | | A shape with lion body and the head of a man, | | A gaze blank and pitiless as the
sun, | | Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it | | Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds. | | The darkness
drops again; but now I know | | That twenty centuries of stony sleep | | Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking
cradle, | | And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, | | Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born? |
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By PanEris
using Melati.
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