It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:. To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths. The sounding furrows for my purpose holds. Push off, and sitting well in order smite. ‘T is not too late to seek a newer world. The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep. The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:. Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods. Some work of noble note, may yet be done,. Death closes all: but something ere the end,. Old age hath yet his honour and his toil. ULYSSES TENNYSON FREE
Free hearts, free foreheads-you and I are old. The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed. Souls that have toil’d, and wrought, and thought with me. There lies the port the vessel puffs her sail:. Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere. Subdue them to the useful and the good. A rugged people, and thro’ soft degrees. This labour, by slow prudence to make mild. To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle,. Beyond the utmost bound of human thought. To follow knowledge like a sinking star,. And this gray spirit yearning in desire. For some three suns to store and hoard myself,. A bringer of new things and vile it were. From that eternal silence, something more,. Little remains: but every hour is saved. 
As tho’ to breathe were life! Life piled on life.To rust unburnish’d, not to shine in use!.How dull it is to pause, to make an end,.Gleams that untravell’d world whose margin fades.Yet all experience is an arch wherethro’.Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.And drunk delight of battle with my peers,.Myself not least, but honour’d of them all.
And manners, climates, councils, governments,. Much have I seen and known cities of men. That loved me, and alone, on shore, and when. Greatly, have suffer’d greatly, both with those. Life to the lees: All times I have enjoy’d. I cannot rest from travel: I will drink. That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me. Match’d with an aged wife, I mete and dole. By this still hearth, among these barren crags,.
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