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184 lines
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184 lines
6.2 KiB
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<title>"Ulysses"</title>
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<h1>"Ulysses"</h1>
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<h2>by Alfred Lord Tennyson</h2>
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<p>
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It little profits that an idle king,<br>
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By this still hearth, among these barren crags,<br>
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Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole<br>
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Unequal laws unto a savage race,<br>
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That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.<br>
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I cannot rest from travel; I will drink<br>
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Life to the lees. All times I have enjoy'd<br>
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Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those<br>
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That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when<br>
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Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades<br>
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<a name="become.name">
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Vext the dim sea. I am become a name;<br>
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</a>
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For always roaming with a hungry heart<br>
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Much have I seen and known,-- cities of men<br>
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And manners, climates, councils, governments,<br>
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Myself not least, but honor'd of them all,--<br>
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And drunk delight of battle with my peers,<br>
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Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.<br>
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I am a part of all that I have met;<br>
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Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'<br>
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Gleams that untravell'd world whose margin fades<br>
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For ever and for ever when I move.<br>
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How dull it is to pause, to make an end,<br>
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To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use!<br>
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As tho' to breathe were life! Life piled on life<br>
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Were all too little, and of one to me<br>
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Little remains; but every hour is saved<br>
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From that eternal silence, something more,<br>
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A bringer of new things; and vile it were<br>
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For some three suns to store and hoard myself,<br>
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<a name="spirit">
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And this gray spirit yearning in desire<br>
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</a>
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To follow knowledge like a sinking star,<br>
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Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.
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<p>
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This is my son, mine own Telemachus,<br>
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to whom I leave the sceptre and the isle,--<br>
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Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfill<br>
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This labor, by slow prudence to make mild<br>
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A rugged people, and thro' soft degrees<br>
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Subdue them to the useful and the good.<br>
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Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere<br>
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Of common duties, decent not to fail<br>
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In offices of tenderness, and pay<br>
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Meet adoration to my household gods,<br>
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When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.
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<p>
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There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail;<br>
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There gloom the dark, broad seas. My mariners,<br>
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Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with me,--<br>
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That ever with a frolic welcome took<br>
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The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed<br>
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Free hearts, free foreheads,-- you and I are old;<br>
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Old age hath yet his honor and his toil.<br>
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Death closes all; but something ere the end,<br>
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Some work of noble note, may yet be done,<br>
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Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.<br>
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The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks;<br>
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The long day wanes; the slow moon climbs; the deep<br>
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Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends.<br>
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'T is not too late to seek a newer world.<br>
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Push off, and sitting well in order smite<br>
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The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds<br>
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To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths<br>
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Of all the western stars, until I die.<br>
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It may be that the gulfs will wash us down;<br>
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It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,<br>
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And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.<br>
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Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'<br>
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We are not now that strength which in old days<br>
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Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are,--<br>
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One equal temper of heroic hearts,<br>
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Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will<br>
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To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
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<pre>
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</pre>
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<h5>
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Last update:
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October 8, 1995
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