"Sailing to Byzantium" by William Butler Yeats Response

I

That is no country for old men. The young

In one another's arms, birds in the trees,

—Those dying generations—at 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.

II

An aged man is but a paltry thing,

A tattered 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 standing in God's holy fire

As in the gold mosaic 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 of eternity.

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 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.

This poem caught my attention, because I recognized the writer and I knew that he is a really good writer, so I wanted to read one of his poems. This poem was a bit complicated to understand at first. I had to read it like three times before I actually understood the poem and what it was about. There is just so much in the poem that sort of distracted me from the purpose of it. I was swayed by the words but didn't pay attention to what they meant. He is an interesting writer, who is very complex. The poem expresses a certain kind of feeling that I think is perfect to describe using a poem, because I don't think there is a word for it. The speaker is feeling that he's an old man and there's nothing left for him in his home country. It could be any country, but it might be Ireland, since the writer is Irish and the poem is told from first person perspective. This man leaves his country, whether physically or mentally, I don't know, and he goes to another place called Byzantium. That is the old Constantinople, the heart of art, architecture, philosophy, and spirituality. I think that this poem might be about the speaker dying and moving on to another place where he can be more complete and more than just a simple man. Indeed, he can be anything; he could be molded like gold into any shape. It gives us a sense of hope, too, that even though you are old and feel like you have come to a stop, you can still go beyond and explore and grow and change. It shows us that life does not reach a constant; it is forever changing.