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Second Coming

March 29, 2012

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: a waste of desert sand

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

Wind 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?

William Butler Yeats

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