The Story Archive

Sailing to Byzantium

W. B. Yeats · 1928 CE · Poem · English · Modernist

That is no country for old men: the young in one another's arms, the salmon-falls and the mackerel-crowded seas, all of them neglecting monuments of unageing intellect. An aged man is a paltry thing, a tattered coat upon a stick, unless soul clap its hands and sing, and so the speaker has taken ship across the seas to the holy city and calls on the sages standing in God's holy fire. The Byzantium he meant was the sixth-century one, which he took to be the single moment when religious, aesthetic and practical life were all one thing.

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