Ulysses<\/em> by Alfred Tennyson<\/p>\nIt little profits that an idle king,<\/p>\n
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,<\/p>\n
Match’d with an aged wife, I mete and dole<\/p>\n
Unequal laws unto a savage race,<\/p>\n
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.<\/p>\n
I cannot rest from travel; I will drink<\/p>\n
Life to the lees. All times I have enjoy’d<\/p>\n
Greatly, have suffer’d greatly, both with those<\/p>\n
That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when<\/p>\n
Thro’ scudding drifts the rainy Hyades<\/p>\n
Vext the dim sea. I am become a name;<\/p>\n
For always roaming with a hungry heart<\/p>\n
Much have I seen and known,– cities of men<\/p>\n
And manners, climates, councils, governments,<\/p>\n
Myself not least, but honor’d of them all,–<\/p>\n
And drunk delight of battle with my peers,<\/p>\n
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.<\/p>\n
I am a part of all that I have met;<\/p>\n
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro’<\/p>\n
Gleams that untravell’d world whose margin fades<\/p>\n
For ever and for ever when I move.<\/p>\n
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,<\/p>\n
To rust unburnish’d, not to shine in use!<\/p>\n
As tho’ to breathe were life! Life piled on life<\/p>\n
Were all too little, and of one to me<\/p>\n
Little remains; but every hour is saved<\/p>\n
From that eternal silence, something more,<\/p>\n
A bringer of new things; and vile it were<\/p>\n
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,<\/p>\n
And this gray spirit yearning in desire<\/p>\n
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,<\/p>\n
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.<\/p>\n
This is my son, mine own Telemachus,<\/p>\n
to whom I leave the sceptre and the isle,–<\/p>\n
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfill<\/p>\n
This labor, by slow prudence to make mild<\/p>\n
A rugged people, and thro’ soft degrees<\/p>\n
Subdue them to the useful and the good.<\/p>\n
Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere<\/p>\n
Of common duties, decent not to fail<\/p>\n
In offices of tenderness, and pay<\/p>\n
Meet adoration to my household gods,<\/p>\n
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.<\/p>\n
There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail;
\nThere gloom the dark, broad seas. My mariners,
\nSouls that have toil’d, and wrought, and thought with me,–
\nThat ever with a frolic welcome took<\/p>\n
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
\nFree hearts, free foreheads,– you and I are old;
\nOld age hath yet his honor and his toil.
\nDeath closes all; but something ere the end,
\nSome work of noble note, may yet be done,
\nNot unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
\nThe lights begin to twinkle from the rocks;
\nThe long day wanes; the slow moon climbs; the deep
\nMoans round with many voices. Come, my friends.
\n‘T is not too late to seek a newer world.
\nPush off, and sitting well in order smite<\/p>\n
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
\nTo sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
\nOf all the western stars, until I die.
\nIt may be that the gulfs will wash us down;
\nIt may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
\nAnd see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
\nTho’ much is taken, much abides; and tho’
\nWe are not now that strength which in old days<\/p>\n
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are,
\nOne equal temper of heroic hearts,
\nMade weak by time and fate, but strong in will To strive,
\nto seek, to find, and not to yield.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
This poem about an idling Ulysses by Alfred Tennyson brings to mind what might happen to an entrepreneur who sold his company and is now whittling away inside a large … Continue reading “”<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":20587,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"inline_featured_image":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[12,7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1006","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-quotes-speeches","category-entrepreneurship"],"acf":[],"contentUpdated":"Why entrepreneurs should never retire!. Categories - Quotes & Poems, Entrepreneurship. Date-Posted - 2010-03-26T16:17:54 . This poem about an idling Ulysses by Alfred Tennyson brings to mind what might happen to an entrepreneur who sold his company and is now whittling away inside a large firm or on the beach.\n Conquer and be merry!\n Ulysses by Alfred Tennyson\n It little profits that an idle king,\n By this still hearth, among these barren crags,\n Match’d with an aged wife, I mete and dole\n Unequal laws unto a savage race,\n That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.\n I cannot rest from travel; I will drink\n Life to the lees. All times I have enjoy’d\n Greatly, have suffer’d greatly, both with those\n That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when\n Thro’ scudding drifts the rainy Hyades\n Vext the dim sea. I am become a name;\n For always roaming with a hungry heart\n Much have I seen and known,– cities of men\n And manners, climates, councils, governments,\n Myself not least, but honor’d of them all,–\n And drunk delight of battle with my peers,\n Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.\n I am a part of all that I have met;\n Yet all experience is an arch wherethro’\n Gleams that untravell’d world whose margin fades\n For ever and for ever when I move.\n How dull it is to pause, to make an end,\n To rust unburnish’d, not to shine in use!\n As tho’ to breathe were life! Life piled on life\n Were all too little, and of one to me\n Little remains; but every hour is saved\n From that eternal silence, something more,\n A bringer of new things; and vile it were\n For some three suns to store and hoard myself,\n And this gray spirit yearning in desire\n To follow knowledge like a sinking star,\n Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.\n This is my son, mine own Telemachus,\n to whom I leave the sceptre and the isle,–\n Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfill\n This labor, by slow prudence to make mild\n A rugged people, and thro’ soft degrees\n Subdue them to the useful and the good.\n Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere\n Of common duties, decent not to fail\n In offices of tenderness, and pay\n Meet adoration to my household gods,\n When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.\n There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail;\n There gloom the dark, broad seas. My mariners,\n Souls that have toil’d, and wrought, and thought with me,–\n That ever with a frolic welcome took\n The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed\n Free hearts, free foreheads,– you and I are old;\n Old age hath yet his honor and his toil.\n Death closes all; but something ere the end,\n Some work of noble note, may yet be done,\n Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.\n The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks;\n The long day wanes; the slow moon climbs; the deep\n Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends.\n ‘T is not too late to seek a newer world.\n Push off, and sitting well in order smite\n The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds\n To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths\n Of all the western stars, until I die.\n It may be that the gulfs will wash us down;\n It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,\n And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.\n Tho’ much is taken, much abides; and tho’\n We are not now that strength which in old days\n Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are,\n One equal temper of heroic hearts,\n Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will To strive,\n to seek, to find, and not to yield.\n ","Category":["Quotes & Poems","Entrepreneurship"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/grinda.org\/nl\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1006","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/grinda.org\/nl\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/grinda.org\/nl\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/grinda.org\/nl\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/grinda.org\/nl\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1006"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/grinda.org\/nl\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1006\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":17082,"href":"https:\/\/grinda.org\/nl\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1006\/revisions\/17082"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/grinda.org\/nl\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/20587"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/grinda.org\/nl\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1006"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/grinda.org\/nl\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1006"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/grinda.org\/nl\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1006"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}