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5
4
3
2
1
of the indignant desert birds
Is moving its slow thighs
A shape with lion body
Surely the Second Coming
Turning and turning
in the widening gyre
is at hand
The falcon cannot hear
the falconer
and the head of a man
The 2nd Coming
Things fall apart
the centre cannot hold
Hardly are those words out
Mere anarchy
is loosed upon the world
While all about it Wind shadows
A gaze blank and
When a vast image
The blood-dimme
d tide is loosed
And everywhere the ceremony
out of Spiritus Mundi
of innocence is drowned
The best lack all conviction
pitiless as the sun
Troubles my sight
while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity
a waste of desert sand
Surely some
revelation is at hand