The Second Coming
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?
7 comments:
This is brilliant.
Also, poetry is MUCH better with pictures.
Who knew this poem was all about Britney? But now it's so obvious.
It is so about Britney. Literary Makeovers is genius.
Oh wait, I forgot my excessive use of exclamation marks! Silly me!
"Just [DON'T] leave Britney alone!!!"
K, when you told me your idea for this one, I was all like, "Yeah, that could be cool." What an understatement. I love this.
Aw, shucks.
I will never look at Yeats the same way again. Bravo, Literary Makeovers (and EJP), bravo.
Thank you, Meghan, but this particular masterpiece was all Burgess and no Peterson.
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