Explore "The Tower" by W.B. Yeats on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
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.