“The Second Coming” by William Butler Yeats

“The Second Coming”
by 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: 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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