Poetry Month – “To Strive, To Seek, To Find, And Not To Yield”

Ulysses is one of the greatest poems of all time, and its author Alfred, Lord Tennyson one of the greatest poets.

Tennyson exemplifies the Victorian Age in poetry. He succeeded Wordworth as Poet Laureate in 1850. He was Queen Victoria’s favorite poet.

Like most Victorian poetry, Ulysses is best appreciated when heard read aloud. So sit back and enjoy this fine recitation of a truly magnificent work of literary art.

It little profits that an idle king,

By this still hearth, among these barren crags,

Match’d with an aged wife, I mete and dole

Unequal laws unto a savage race,

That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.

I cannot rest from travel: I will drink

Life to the lees: all times I have enjoy’d

Greatly, have suffer’d greatly, both with those

That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when

Thro’ scudding drifts the rainy Hyades

Vext 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 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;

Yet all experience is an arch wherethro’

Gleams that untravell’d world, whose margin fades

For ever and for ever when I move.

How dull it is to pause, to make an end,

To rust unburnish’d, not to shine in use!

As tho’ 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 gray spirit yearning in desire

To follow knowledge, like a sinking star,

Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

This is my son, mine own Telemachus,

To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle–

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

Of common duties, decent not to fail

In offices of tenderness, and pay

Meet adoration to my household gods,

When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.

There lies the port: the vessel puffs her sail:

There gloom the dark broad seas. My mariners,

Souls that have toil’d and wrought, and thought with me–

That ever with a frolic welcome took

The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed

Free hearts, free foreheads–you and I are old;

Old age hath yet his honour and his toil;

Death closes all; but something ere the end,

Some work of noble note, may yet be done,

Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.

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.

It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:

It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,

And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.

Tho’ much is taken, much abides; and tho’

We are not now that strength which in old days

Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;

One equal temper of heroic hearts,

Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will

To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

Requiescat In Pace Margaret Thatcher

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It must be something in the British water. Or maybe it’s the fog.

Whatever it is, the Mother Country has been producing kick-ass women leaders since Boadica laid waste to Roman Londinium in the year 60 or thereabouts.

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Like many great leaders, Baroness Thatcher was a polarizing force politically. She took strong positions, some of which were difficult to justify. But even her enemies respected her intelligence and strength. There’s no question that she kicked butt and took names. She despised Communism and was instrumental in precipitating the collapse of the USSR.

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There will be much written about the Baroness, so I’ll limit myself to sharing a few anecdotes I heard Monday on National Public Radio.

Mrs. Thatcher liked to think of herself as royalty, going so far as to refer to herself with the royal “We.”  Think of Queen Victoria stating, “We are not amused.” Neither, apparently, was the Royal Family.

One Commentator opined that she ought to be compared to the Queen, but the Queen in question is Elizabeth I, not Elizabeth II.

Finally, a caller spoke of an occasion when he, his wife, and their young children met Mrs. Thatcher in Park City, Utah, of all places. The caller’s wife said to her, “My children think that you’re the Queen of England.”

Mrs. Thatcher replied, with a twinkle in her eye, “Don’t disillusion them, dear.”

Rest in peace, Baroness. And thank you.