Zenful Echoes
@zenfulechoes
0 reply
0 recast
0 reaction
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?
“The Second Coming” - William Butler Yeats, 1919 1 reply
31 recasts
72 reactions
0 reply
0 recast
0 reaction
12 replies
2 recasts
16 reactions
0 reply
0 recast
0 reaction
0 reply
0 recast
0 reaction
0 reply
0 recast
0 reaction
0 reply
0 recast
0 reaction
0 reply
0 recast
1 reaction
0 reply
0 recast
0 reaction
0 reply
0 recast
0 reaction
1 reply
0 recast
0 reaction
0 reply
0 recast
0 reaction
0 reply
0 recast
0 reaction
5 replies
8 recasts
38 reactions
1 reply
3 recasts
47 reactions
0 reply
16 recasts
30 reactions
1 reply
9 recasts
34 reactions
4 replies
5 recasts
53 reactions
2 replies
41 recasts
104 reactions
