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?
Although the times have changed, the ominous, apocalyptic undertones of Yeats' poem hold the same power one hundred years later. Hell, one might argue that they're even more relevant nowadays. "The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere the ceremony of innocence is drowned." JEEZ. What a cheerful fella Yeats must've been. These brief lines still hold some of my favorite imagery in any art form, and I can't think of a more chilling description of impeding doom anywhere else.
23.06 William Butler Yeats' The Second Coming (Poem)