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WB Yeats's The Second Coming

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Farang

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Written in the midst of the 1918/19 Spanish Flu pandemic, eerily resonant today so I thought I'd share it. If this is the wrong forum, or otherwise inappropriate, please delete :) It's out of copyright.

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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Gloster

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Yes. Yates understood of what he wrote. My favourite has always been An Irish Airman Foresees His Death: eternity is there.
 
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