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Sailing to Byzantium

John the Baptist - Agios Ioannis Prodromos, mosaic

Haghia Sophia in Istanbul

That is no country for old men.

young arm in arm, the birds in the trees

generations die singing, waterfalls

salmon, tuna crowded seas,

fish, animals or fowl, commend all summer

everything that occurs, is born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect

monuments of intellect that does not age.

An aged man is but a miserable object,

a tattered coat on a stick, unless

the soul clap and sing, and louder sing

for every tatter in its mortal dress.
There is no singing school but studying

monuments of magnificence;
and so I recorrdio the seas and come
into the holy city of Byzantium. Oh

sages are in the sacred fire of God
and gold mosaic of a wall, Come from the holy fire
, CIRAD to me, and thirst
Meistersinger my soul.
Consume my heart sick with desire,

as tied to a dying animal

not already know what it is, and gather
to dream of eternity.

Once out of nature I shall never take
my form from any natural,
but a form as Grecian goldsmiths make that
of hammered gold and gold enamelling
to keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
or put in a golden bough to sing the lords
and ladies of Byzantium
on the past, present, or things to come.

William B. Yeats, Sailing to Byzantium