By: William Butler Yeats Presented by: Meredith Davis.
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Transcript of By: William Butler Yeats Presented by: Meredith Davis.
![Page 1: By: William Butler Yeats Presented by: Meredith Davis.](https://reader036.fdocuments.in/reader036/viewer/2022062311/5a4d1b907f8b9ab0599c0d14/html5/thumbnails/1.jpg)
SAILING TO BYZANTIUMBy: William Butler Yeats
Presented by: Meredith Davis
![Page 2: By: William Butler Yeats Presented by: Meredith Davis.](https://reader036.fdocuments.in/reader036/viewer/2022062311/5a4d1b907f8b9ab0599c0d14/html5/thumbnails/2.jpg)
![Page 3: By: William Butler Yeats Presented by: Meredith Davis.](https://reader036.fdocuments.in/reader036/viewer/2022062311/5a4d1b907f8b9ab0599c0d14/html5/thumbnails/3.jpg)
![Page 4: By: William Butler Yeats Presented by: Meredith Davis.](https://reader036.fdocuments.in/reader036/viewer/2022062311/5a4d1b907f8b9ab0599c0d14/html5/thumbnails/4.jpg)
Analysis 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 longWhatever is begotten, born, and dies.Caught in that sensual music all neglectMonuments of unageing intellect.
![Page 5: By: William Butler Yeats Presented by: Meredith Davis.](https://reader036.fdocuments.in/reader036/viewer/2022062311/5a4d1b907f8b9ab0599c0d14/html5/thumbnails/5.jpg)
Analysis Cont. An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unlessSoul clap its hands and sing, and louder singFor every tatter in its mortal dress,Nor is there singing school but studyingMonuments of its own magnificence;And therefore I have sailed the seas and comeTo the holy city of Byzantium.
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Analysis Cont. 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 desireAnd fastened to a dying animalIt knows not what it is; and gather meInto the artifice of eternity.
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Analysis Cont. Once out of nature I shall never take
My bodily form from any natural thing,But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths makeOf hammered gold and gold enamellingTo keep a drowsy Emperor awake;Or set upon a golden bough to singTo lords and ladies of ByzantiumOf what is past, or passing, or to come.
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The End