September 30, 2007

Slouching Toward Bethlehem

This is one of my favorite poems. Every day it seems more and more appropriate to the times in which we live.

The Second Coming

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the center cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
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?

-- William Butler Yeats, January 1919

1 comment:

King of Peace said...

Things fall apart; the center cannot hold

That very line from this poem was on my mind last week too. What's in the air?