On 10/04/13 00:23, Douglas Barbour wrote:
> Just because you own a yacht...?
http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/20310
I will admit is one of my favourite poems. Over the history of poetry
and literature there seems to be quite a collection of boating and
sailing poems.
"*Ulysses*" is a poem in blank verse
<http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blank_verse> by the Victorian
<http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Victorian_era> poet Alfred, Lord Tennyson
<http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alfred,_Lord_Tennyson>
Sailing to Byzantium
by W. B. Yeats <http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/117>
Sailing to Byzantium
by W. B. Yeats <http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/117>
That is no country for old men. The young
In one another's arms, birds in the trees
---Those dying generations---at their song,
- See more at:
http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/20310#sthash.k1iErcKd.dpuf
Sailing to Byzantium
by W. B. Yeats <http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/117>
That is no country for old men. The young
In one another's arms, birds in the trees
---Those dying generations---at their song,
- See more at:
http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/20310#sthash.k1iErcKd.dpuf
Sailing to Byzantium
by W. B. Yeats <http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/117>
That is no country for old men. The young
In one another's arms, birds in the trees
---Those dying generations---at their song,
- See more at:
http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/20310#sthash.k1iErcKd.dpuf
Sailing to Byzantium
by W. B. Yeats <http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/117>
That is no country for old men. The young
In one another's arms, birds in the trees
---Those dying generations---at their song,
- See more at:
http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/20310#sthash.k1iErcKd.dpuf
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. - See more
at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/20310#sthash.k1iErcKd.dpuf
Sailing to Byzantium
by W. B. Yeats <http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/117>
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.
- See more at:
http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/20310#sthash.k1iErcKd.dpuf
Sailing to Byzantium
by W. B. Yeats <http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/117>
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.
- See more at:
http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/20310#sthash.k1iErcKd.dpuf
Sailing to Byzantium
by W. B. Yeats <http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/117>
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.
- See more at:
http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/20310#sthash.k1iErcKd.dpuf
Sailing to Byzantium
by W. B. Yeats <http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/117>
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.
- See more at:
http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/20310#sthash.k1iErcKd.dpuf
Sailing to Byzantium
by W. B. Yeats <http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/117>
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.
- See more at:
http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/20310#sthash.k1iErcKd.dpuf
--
BLOG http://abdevpoetics.blogspot.com.au/
|