... 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...
... How dull it is to pause, to make an end...
... Death closes all; but 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....
... 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,--
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
Some Tennyson for that ass.
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