letra de sailing to byzantium - v. c. clinton-baddeley
old men should quit a country where 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
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 therе singing school but studying
monuments of its own magnificence;
and thеrefore i have sailed the seas and come
to the holy city of byzantium
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
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
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