“The Second Coming” by W.B.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-dimned 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 ?