Ulysses
(he is an old man now, making a decision between
going out and living or dying easily) Present time
It little profits that an idle king, Bored with no point
By this still hearth, among these barren crags, Empty and infertile Disgruntled
Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole Old wife
Unequal laws unto a savage race, People are not civilized as they value material items
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me. Big ego
I cannot rest from travel: I will drink Wants to travel
Life to the lees: All times I have enjoy'd Live to the end of his days
Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those
He has experienced a lot (both good and bad)
That loved me, and alone, on shore, and when
Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades God of the underworld
Vext the dim sea: I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart Wanting to explore
Much have I seen and known; cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honour'd 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; Everyone he has met has influenced him
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'
Gleams that untravell'd world whose margin fades
For ever and forever when I move. Always more to see and experience
How dull it is to pause, to make an end, To stop, be old and be of no use
To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use! He chooses to live
As tho' to breathe were life! Life piled on life For some breathing is living, but for him it is not enough
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains: but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more, Death
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself, Not an object, wants to see new things
And this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought. He will continue to learn and explore
This is my son, mine own Telemachus, Proud dad
To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle,— Will become king
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil
This labour, by slow prudence to make mild
A rugged people, and thro' soft degrees
Subdue them to the useful and the good.
Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere His son is a good leader and perfect
Of common duties, decent not to fail
In offices of tenderness, and pay
Meet adoration to my household gods, His son will be a perfect King
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine. They have different interests
(he is an old man now, making a decision between
going out and living or dying easily) Present time
It little profits that an idle king, Bored with no point
By this still hearth, among these barren crags, Empty and infertile Disgruntled
Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole Old wife
Unequal laws unto a savage race, People are not civilized as they value material items
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me. Big ego
I cannot rest from travel: I will drink Wants to travel
Life to the lees: All times I have enjoy'd Live to the end of his days
Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those
He has experienced a lot (both good and bad)
That loved me, and alone, on shore, and when
Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades God of the underworld
Vext the dim sea: I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart Wanting to explore
Much have I seen and known; cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honour'd 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; Everyone he has met has influenced him
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'
Gleams that untravell'd world whose margin fades
For ever and forever when I move. Always more to see and experience
How dull it is to pause, to make an end, To stop, be old and be of no use
To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use! He chooses to live
As tho' to breathe were life! Life piled on life For some breathing is living, but for him it is not enough
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains: but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more, Death
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself, Not an object, wants to see new things
And this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought. He will continue to learn and explore
This is my son, mine own Telemachus, Proud dad
To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle,— Will become king
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil
This labour, by slow prudence to make mild
A rugged people, and thro' soft degrees
Subdue them to the useful and the good.
Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere His son is a good leader and perfect
Of common duties, decent not to fail
In offices of tenderness, and pay
Meet adoration to my household gods, His son will be a perfect King
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine. They have different interests
