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SAILING TO BYZANTIUM, by         Recitation     Poem Explanation     Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: That is no country for old men. The young
Last Line: Of what is past, or passing, or to come.
Alternate Author Name(s): Yeats, W. B.
Subject(s): Art & Artists; Birds; Constantinople; Death; Imagination; Immortality; Istanbul, Turkey; Men; Old Age; Poetry & Poets; Vision; Istambul; Byzantium; Dead, The; Fancy


I
That is no country for old men. The young
That is no country for old men. The young
In one another's arms, birds in the trees
In one another's arms, birds in the trees
-Those dying generations-at their song,
--Those dying generations--at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Fish, flesh, or fowl commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unageing intellect.
Monuments of unaging intellect.


An aged man is but a paltry thing,
II
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
An aged man is but a paltry thing,
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
For every tatter in its mortal dress,
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
Nor is there singing school but studying
For every tatter in its mortal dress,
Monuments of its own magnificence;
Nor is there singing school but studying
And therefore I have sailed the seas and come
Monuments of its own magnificence;
To the holy city of Byzantium.
And therefore I have sailed the seas and come

To the holy city of Byzantium.
O sages standing in God's holy fire

As in the gold mosaic of a wall,
III
Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,
O sages standing in God's holy fire
And be the singing-masters of my soul.
As in the gold mosaic of a wall,
Consume my heart away; sick with desire
Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,
And fastened to a dying animal
And be the singing-masters of my soul.
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Consume my heart away; sick with desire
Into the artifice of eternity.
And fastened to a dying animal

It knows not what it is; and gather me
Once out of nature I shall never take
Into the artifice of eternity.
My bodily form from any natural thing,

But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
IV
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
Once out of nature I shall never take
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
My bodily form from any natural thing,
Or set upon a golden bough to sing
But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
To lords and ladies of Byzantium
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
Of what is past, or passing, or to come.
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;

Or set upon a golden bough to sing
To lords and ladies of Byzantium
Of what is past, or passing, or to come.





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