tURNING and turning in the widening gyre

        t he faler;

        t; tre ot hold;

        Mere anarche world,

        tide is loosed, and everywhere

        the ceremony of innoce is drowned;

        t lack all vi, w

        Are full of passioensity.

        Surely some revelation is at hand;

        Surely t hand.

        t

        image out of Spiritus Mundi

        troubles my sig

        A she head of a man,

        A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,

        Is moving its slo it

        Reel s desert birds.

        t now I know

        t ty turies of stony sleep

        ere vexed to nightmare by a rog cradle,

        And s    last,

        Sloucoo be born?
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