Sunday 4 October 2009

As Ireland votes 'yes' to Lisbon treaty, Peter Hitchens blows his verbosity gland

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 the sands of the desert
A shape with bull's 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 Lisbon to be born?

With apologies to W.B. Yeats


  1. I love Anne Smith, ex-pat in France's comment, which is currently top-rated.

  2. I wish he'd blow his frontal lobes then we'd all get some frackin' peace!

  3. Give CP from Kent a vote. He is on the oldest comments and dared to contradict! A victim in the middle of a perfect Mail storm!

  4. That gland must be ruddy bloody huge.

  5. ha ha yeah I was thinking the revelation is fulfilling itself. Run away!

  6. Blimey, Hitch really ought to be mixing a bit more tobacco in it.