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from "Ulysses"by Alfred Lord Tennyson
It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.
I cannot rest from travel; I will drink
Life to the lees:
--all time I have enjoy'd
Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone;
I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known,-- cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least,
I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch where-thro'
Gleams that untravell'd world, whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use!
As tho' to breathe were life! Life piled on life
every hour is saved
From that eternal silence,
A bringer of new things;
yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.
There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail;
There gloom the dark, broad seas.
You and I are old;
Old age hath yet his honor and his toil.
something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
Come, my friends,
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
My purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down;
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles,
Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
*Note: For die hard poetry fans, you can see the full text of
this poem by clicking here.
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