Where Words Meet Logic
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all.
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.