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For Fellow Lit-lovers out there, I give you Yeats...

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Taverner Donating Member (1000+ posts) Send PM | Profile | Ignore Wed Nov-03-04 10:13 PM
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For Fellow Lit-lovers out there, I give you Yeats...
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 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?

-- William Butler Yeats, January 1919


I think this fits today...
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Terran Donating Member (1000+ posts) Send PM | Profile | Ignore Wed Nov-03-04 10:26 PM
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1. Yes, it does.
That first stanza you quoted has always seemed rather a prognostication of our future. Our past too, come to think of it. But I fear this time things really will fall apart, and no one will be able to put them back together.
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Kierkegaard Donating Member (1000+ posts) Send PM | Profile | Ignore Wed Nov-03-04 10:29 PM
Response to Original message
2. Thanks for sharing. Couldn't help getting in one as well...
Edited on Wed Nov-03-04 10:35 PM by bushbash
I hear an army charging upon the land,
And the thunder of horses plunging; foam about their knees:
Arrogant, in black armour, behind them stand,
Disdaining the reins, with fluttering whips, the Charioteers.

They cry into the night their battle name:
I moan in sleep when I hear afar their whirling laughter.
They cleave the gloom of dreams, a blinding flame,
Clanging, clanging upon the heart as upon an anvil.

They come shaking in triumph their long grey hair:
They come out of the sea and run shouting by the shore.
My heart, have you no wisdom thus to despair?
My love, my love, my love, why have you left me alone?

James Joyce

on edit: should have credited the piece Doh!
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samplegirl Donating Member (1000+ posts) Send PM | Profile | Ignore Wed Nov-03-04 10:36 PM
Response to Original message
3. Beautiful post
tears tears yet hope
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