Ulysses
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it little profits that an idol King, by this still hearth, among these barren crags matched with an aged wife, I meet in dull, unequal laws unto a savage race that horde and sleep and feed, and, no, not me! I cannot rest from travel. I will drink life to the less. All times I have enjoyed greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those that loved me, and alone on shore. And when, through scolding drifts the rainy hides vexed the dim C 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 on assured 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 where through gleams that untraveled world whose margins fades forever and forever, when I move! How dull it is to pause to make an end to rust, unburden ish! Not to shine in use, as though to breathe where 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 violet were for some three sons 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 sector, and the ill well loved of me, discerning to fulfill this labor 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 centered 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 their gloom, the dark broad sees my Mariners, souls that have toiled and rot, and thought with me that ever with a frolic welcome, took the thunder and the sunshine, and opposed free hearts, 34 heads. You and I are old, old age, hath yet his honor and his toil death closes all but something air the end! Some work of noble note may yet be done, not unbecoming men that strove with God's. The lights began to twinkle from the rocks. The long day wanes. The slow moon climbs, the deep moans round, with many voices. Come, my friends! It is 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 gulf's 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.