名人诗歌|Sailing to Byzantium

I

That is no country for old men. The young

In one anothers arms， birds in the trees，

Those dying generationsat their song，

The salmon-falls， the mackerel-crowded seas，

Fish， flesh， or fowl^{1， commend all summer long}

Whatever is begotten^{2， born， and dies.}

Caught in that sensual music all neglect

Monuments of unageing intellect.

II

An aged^{3 man is but a paltry4 thing，}

A tattered^{5 coat upon a stick， unless}

Soul clap its hands and sing， and louder sing

For every tatter in its mortal dress，

Nor is there singing school but studying

Monuments of its own magnificence；

And therefore I have sailed the seas and come

To the holy city of Byzantium.

III

O sages^{6 standing7 in Gods holy fire}

As in the gold mosaic^{8 of a wall，}

Come from the holy fire， perne in a gyre，

And be the singing-masters of my soul.

Consume my heart away； sick with desire

And fastened to a dying animal

It knows not what it is； and gather me

Into the artifice^{9 of eternity10.}

IV

once out of nature I shall never take

My bodily form from any natural thing，

But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make

Of hammered gold and gold enamelling

To keep a drowsy^{11 Emperor awake；}

Or set upon a golden bough^{12 to sing}

To lords and ladies of Byzantium

Of what is past， or passing， or to come.