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;
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt5lngBw4UOwnxY4qefrJSdOKuuSB2mHqrM4pqUIx1ryVDQ93r-YqZ7af6YwmWXBsdiPHN5DAMKnc2JSwwDw2i6ZWfPPnfc5pSlGhX9qno2NuODVzZM-vnQxWF4szlYPWQbojwc8wshhs/w350-h260/322820479-4f00e2ed38339a63b6a18ef4fad28c88-4df994d8-full.jpg)
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
This other man I had dreamed
A drunken, vainglorious lout.
He had done most bitter wrong
To some who are near my heart.
Yet I number him in the song;
He, too, has resigned his part
In the casual comedy;
He, too, has been changed in his turn,
Transformed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.
(Excerpts from poetry by W. B. Yeats)
(Excerpts from poetry by W. B. Yeats)