mosmelk:

First Stanza of William Yeats ‘Sailing to Byzantium’

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.