William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)
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: a waste of desert sand;
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
Wind 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?
In novissimo die
torsdag 1 maj 2014
The Tiger
William Blake. 1757–1827 |
onsdag 12 mars 2014
The Fly
Anna Carlbro
High pitched buzzing from a dying fly
Eruptions of sudden frenzy
Fly, dance for me, then die
You’ve got your boards
See, the ray of sun is yours
I, your watchful audience in silent admiration
This is your time
Your brief moment of infinite time
My life like yours is a fragment of the Universe
An unseen passage out of darkness into darkness
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