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  • Turning and turning in the widening gyre The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
  • Things fall apart; the center 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 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, 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 candle And rough beast, its hour come round at last Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
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