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?
