Tuesday, June 4, 2013


It has been a month and it is odd to be home now. I keep referring to a poem that my professor from my Victorian art and Society class gave to us.

Ulysses by Lord Alfred Tennyson

I cannot rest from travel: I will drink 
Life to the lees: all times I have enjoyed
Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those 
That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when 
Through scudding drifts the rainy 
Hyade Vexed the dim sea: 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 honoured 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 wherethrough 
Gleams that untravelled world, whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move. 
How dull it is to pause, to make an end, 
To rust unburnished, not to shine in use! 
As though to breathe were 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 vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself, 
And this grey spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star, 
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

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