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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.
-Yeats; 'Sailing to Byzantium'
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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.
-Yeats; 'Sailing to Byzantium'
Featured:
[link]
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© 2010 - 2024 GaiusNefarious
Comments70
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I like the division into thirds. (Top third is purplish; middle is orange; bottom third is green. ...Which are all secondary colors/triads, now that I think about it...) All in a mysterious, misty atmosphere. And, of course, the sun rays on the left third bring the magic into this scene.