THE SECOND COMING
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
Surely some revelation is at hand;
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 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 (1865-1939)
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Blogdog's Poetry Corner Presents:
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
4 comments:
Gee, I see you have an advance copy of the Republican response to the Idiot President's State of the Union speech...
I didn't know Obama had a statue of himself in the desert. Learn something new every day...
Obamyandias. You betcha!
Yeah, that's the ticket. Or maybe Obamiragymandis - he's saying "look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair", and the populace says, "We're despairing, alright, but we see only mirages and fancy (look at the crease in those pants!) set of clothes with no emperor."
Post a Comment