THE SECOND COMING ~William Butler Yeats 



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?


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