Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long

In one anothers arms, birds in the trees

Monuments of unageing intellect.

The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,

For evehttps://read.99csw.comry tatter in its mortal dress,

As in the gold mosaic of a wall,

O sages standing in Gods holy fire

My bodily form from any natural thing,

Into the artifice of eternity.

Soul clap its hands ahttps://read.99csw.comnd sing, and louder sing

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

Monuments of its own magnificence;

An aged man is but a paltry thing,

Caught in that sensual music all neglect

To keep a drowsy Emper九_九_藏_書or awake;

Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.

Nor is there singing school but studying

And fastened to a dying animal

Of hammered gold and gold enamelling

To the holy city of Byzantium.

THAT is no country for old m九-九-藏-書en. The young

Once out of nature I shall never take

Consume my heart away; sick with desire

And be the singing-masters of my soul.

To lords and ladies of Byzantium

A tattered coat upon a stick, unless

Or set upon a golden九_九_藏_書 bough to sing

And therefore I have sailed the seas and come

It knows not what it is; and gather me

Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,

But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make

- Those dying generations - at their song,