The lights begin to twinkleAlfred, Lord Tennyson
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
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.