(30.0K) | 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. Alfred, Lord Tennyson Ulysses |