t is no country for old men. the young
In one anotrees
- tions - at their song,
the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
ever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caug sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unageing intellect.
An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress,
Nor is t studying
Monuments of its own magnificence;
And the seas and come
to ty of Byzantium.
O sages standing in Gods holy fire
As in the gold mosaic of a wall,
Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,
And be ters of my soul.
Consume my ah desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It kno is; and gather me
Into tifice of eternity.
Once out of nature I sake
My bodily form from any natural thing,
But suchs make
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
to keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
Or set upon a golden bougo sing
to lords and ladies of Byzantium
Of , or passing, or to come.