Written by William Oxley Yeats
Turning and turning in Block O’s widening gyre
The food robot cannot deliver its order;
Things fall apart; the Oval cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The Scarlet-dimmed tide is loosed, and the Mirror Lake Jump is drowned;
The best cheer O-H-I-O, while the worst forgo all intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely Homecoming is at hand.
Homecoming! Hardly are those words out When a vast image of Brutus Buckeye
Troubles my sight: somewhere in the grass of the Horseshoe A shape with buckeye head and the body of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the Ann Arbor sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel scurries of the indignant Midwestern squirrels.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That fifteen decades of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a flying football,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, Slouches towards Columbus to be born?