Ulysses
by Alfred, Lord
Tennyson
|
| It little profits that an idle king, |
| By this still hearth, among these barren
crags, |
| Matched with an agèd wife, 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 times I have enjoyed |
| Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with
those |
| That loved me, and alone ; on shore, and
when |
| Through scudding drifts the rainy Hyades |
| Vext the dim sea : 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, but honoured of them all
; |
| And drunk delight of battle with my peers, |
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
|
| I am a part of all
that I have met ; |
| Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough |
| Gleams that untravelled world, whose margin
fades |
| For ever and for ever when I move. |
| How dull it is to pause, to make an end, |
| To rust unburnished, not to shine in use ! |
| As though to breathe were life. Life piled
on life |
| Were all too little, and of one to me |
| Little remains : but every hour is saved |
| From that eternal silence, something more, |
| A bringer of new things ; and vile it were |
| For some three suns to store and hoard
myself, |
| And this gray spirit yearning in desire |
| To follow knowledge like a sinking star, |
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.
|
| This is my son,
mine own Telemachus, |
| To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle— |
| Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil |
| This labour, by slow prudence to make mild |
| A rugged people, and through soft degrees |
| Subdue them to the useful and the good. |
| Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere |
| Of common duties, decent not to fail |
| In offices of tenderness, and pay |
| Meet adoration to my household gods, |
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.
|
| There lies the
port ; the vessel puffs her sail : |
| There gloom the dark broad seas. My
mariners, |
| Souls that have toiled, and wrought, and
thought with me— |
| That ever with a frolic welcome took |
| The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed |
| Free hearts, free foreheads—you and I are
old ; |
| Old age hath yet his honour and his toil ; |
| Death closes all : but something ere the
end, |
| Some work of noble note, may yet be done, |
Not unbecoming men that stove with Gods.
|
| The lights begin
to twinkle from the rocks : |
| The long day wanes : the slow moon climbs :
the deep |
| Moans round with many voices. Come, my
friends, |
| ’Tis not too late to seek a newer world. |
| Push off, and sitting well in order smite |
| The sounding furrows ; for 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, whom we knew. |
| Though much is taken, much abides ; and
though |
| We are not now that strength which in old
days |
| Moved earth and heaven ; that which we are,
we are ; |
| One equal temper of heroic hearts, |
| Made weak by time and fate, but strong in
will |
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to
yield.
|
| Alfred, Lord
Tennyson | Classic
Poems |
| |
|
[ The Brook ] [ Blow, Bugle, Blow ] [ Come into the garden Maud ] [ Tithonus ] [ Ulysses ] [ Tears, Idle Tears ] [ The Lady of Shalott ] [ Song of the Lotus-Eaters ] [ The Charge of the Light Brigade ] [ In the Valley of Cauteretz ] [ In Memoriam ] [ The Eagle ] |
