That is no country for old men. The young
\nIn one another\u2019s arms, birds in the trees
\n\u2014Those dying generations\u2014at their song,
\nThe salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
\nFish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
\nWhatever is begotten, born, and dies.
\nCaught in that sensual music all neglect
\nMonuments of unageing intellect.<\/p>\n
An aged man is but a paltry thing,
\nA tattered coat upon a stick, unless
\nSoul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
\nFor every tatter in its mortal dress,
\nNor is there singing school but studying
\nMonuments of its own magnificence;
\nAnd therefore I have sailed the seas and come
\nTo the holy city of Byzantium.<\/p>\n
O sages standing in God\u2019s holy fire
\nAs in the gold mosaic of a wall,
\nCome from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,
\nAnd be the singing-masters of my soul.
\nConsume my heart away; sick with desire
\nAnd fastened to a dying animal
\nIt knows not what it is; and gather me
\nInto the artifice of eternity.<\/p>\n
Once out of nature I shall never take
\nMy bodily form from any natural thing,
\nBut such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
\nOf hammered gold and gold enamelling
\nTo keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
\nOr set upon a golden bough to sing
\nTo lords and ladies of Byzantium
\nOf what is past, or passing, or to come.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
That is no country for old men. The young In one another\u2019s arms, birds in the trees \u2014Those dying generations\u2014at their song, The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas, Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long Whatever is begotten, born, and dies. Caught in that sensual music all neglect Monuments of unageing intellect. An aged man […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":28,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-63183","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"featured_image_urls":{},"yoast_head":"\n