There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail:


There gloom the dark broad seas. My mariners,


Souls that have toil'd, 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 strove 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




Tho' 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.