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am 29.09.2001 4:20 Uhr schrieb [log in to unmask] unter [log in to unmask]:

Gunnar, 

I'm so sorry. My heart goes out to you.

The whole world is going crazy. Please give my regards to your wife.

pat 


Thanks, dear Pat.


The Second Coming

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 ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
The Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When  a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles the 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 his 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?

W.B. Yeats


Thanks, Nancy, for pointing it out.
Gunnar 

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am 29.09.2001 4:20 Uhr schrieb [log in to unmask] unter [log in to unmask]:<B=
R>
<BR>
<BLOCKQUOTE><B>Gunnar, <BR>
<BR>
I'm so sorry. My heart goes out to you. <BR>
<BR>
The whole world is going crazy. Please give my regards to your wife. <BR>
<BR>
pat</B> <BR>
</BLOCKQUOTE><BR>
<BR>
Thanks, dear Pat.<BR>
<BR>
<BR>
The Second Coming<BR>
<BR>
Turning and turning in the widening gyre<BR>
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;<BR>
Things fall apart, the center cannot hold;<BR>
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,<BR>
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;<BR>
The best lack all conviction, while the worst<BR>
Are full of passionate intensity.<BR>
<BR>
Surely some revelation is at hand;<BR>
The Second Coming is at hand.<BR>
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out<BR>
When &nbsp;a vast image out of<I> Spiritus Mundi &nbsp;<BR>
</I>Troubles the sight: somewhere in sands of the desert<BR>
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,<BR>
A &nbsp;gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,<BR>
Is moving his slow thighs, while all about it<BR>
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.<BR>
The darkness drops again; but now I know<BR>
That twenty centuries of stony sleep<BR>
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,<BR>
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,<BR>
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?<BR>
<BR>
W.B. Yeats<BR>
<BR>
<BR>
Thanks, Nancy, for pointing it out.<BR>
Gunnar
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