In the morning, the heavens opened and it began to rain. Bella grabbed her umbrella to get to school, as she walked out of the hostel the first
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 coming of the saint is at hand
The coming of the saint! Hardly are those words out
When the vast image out of spirits Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man
Hence a gaze blankly, wearily bleary eyes
And pitiless as the sun is moving its slow thigh
Is moving its slow thigh, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds
The darkness drops again; but now I know
Just a nightmare on the end.
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