Today is National Poetry Day in Britain.
There is a line from Yeats that came to my mind in the aftermath of September 11th:
I was reminded of "The Second Coming" in the run-up to the millenium (I blame my Catholic upbringing that I would associate one with the other) but reading it again now, it also seems eerily apt:
"The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere The ceremony of innocence is drowned; The best lack all convictions, while the worst Are full of passionate intensity."
Forget Nostradamus (let’s, please!); just read William Butler Yeats.