{"id":30257,"date":"2015-10-13T06:30:25","date_gmt":"2015-10-12T17:30:25","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/helenlowe.info\/blog\/?p=30257"},"modified":"2015-10-12T22:09:18","modified_gmt":"2015-10-12T09:09:18","slug":"the-tuesday-poem-ulysses-by-alfred-lord-tennyson-1809-1892","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/helenlowe.info\/blog\/2015\/10\/13\/the-tuesday-poem-ulysses-by-alfred-lord-tennyson-1809-1892\/","title":{"rendered":"The Tuesday Poem: “Ulysses” by Alfred, Lord Tennyson 1809 – 1892"},"content":{"rendered":"

Ulysses<\/h3>\n
\n
It little profits that an idle king,<\/div>\n
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,<\/div>\n
Match’d with an aged wife, I mete and dole<\/div>\n
Unequal laws unto a savage race,<\/div>\n
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.<\/div>\n
I cannot rest from travel: I will drink<\/div>\n
Life to the lees: All times I have enjoy’d<\/div>\n
Greatly, have suffer’d greatly, both with those<\/div>\n
That loved me, and alone, on shore, and when<\/div>\n
Thro’ scudding drifts the rainy Hyades<\/div>\n
Vext the dim sea: I am become a name;<\/div>\n
For always roaming with a hungry heart<\/div>\n
Much have I seen and known; cities of men<\/div>\n
And manners, climates, councils, governments,<\/div>\n
Myself not least, but honour’d of them all;<\/div>\n
And drunk delight of battle with my peers,<\/div>\n
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.<\/div>\n
I am a part of all that I have met;<\/div>\n
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro’<\/div>\n
Gleams that untravell’d world whose margin fades<\/div>\n
For ever and forever when I move.<\/div>\n
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,<\/div>\n
To rust unburnish’d, not to shine in use!<\/div>\n
As tho’ to breathe were life! Life piled on life<\/div>\n
Were all too little, and of one to me<\/div>\n
Little remains: but every hour is saved<\/div>\n
From that eternal silence, something more,<\/div>\n
A bringer of new things; and vile it were<\/div>\n
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,<\/div>\n
And this gray spirit yearning in desire<\/div>\n
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,<\/div>\n
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.
\n.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0This is my son, mine own Telemachus,<\/div>\n
To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle,\u2014<\/div>\n
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil<\/div>\n
This labour, by slow prudence to make mild<\/div>\n
A rugged people, and thro’ soft degrees<\/div>\n
Subdue them to the useful and the good.<\/div>\n
Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere<\/div>\n
Of common duties, decent not to fail<\/div>\n
In offices of tenderness, and pay<\/div>\n
Meet adoration to my household gods,<\/div>\n
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.
\n.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail:<\/div>\n
There gloom the dark, broad seas. My mariners,<\/div>\n
Souls that have toil’d, and wrought, and thought with me\u2014<\/div>\n
That ever with a frolic welcome took<\/div>\n
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed<\/div>\n
Free hearts, free foreheads\u2014you and I are old;<\/div>\n
Old age hath yet his honour and his toil;<\/div>\n
Death closes all: but something ere the end,<\/div>\n
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,<\/div>\n
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.<\/div>\n
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:<\/div>\n
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep<\/div>\n
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,<\/div>\n
‘T is not too late to seek a newer world.<\/div>\n
Push off, and sitting well in order smite<\/div>\n
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds<\/div>\n
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths<\/div>\n
Of all the western stars, until I die.<\/div>\n
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:<\/div>\n
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,<\/div>\n
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.<\/div>\n
Tho’ much is taken, much abides; and tho’<\/div>\n
We are not now that strength which in old days<\/div>\n
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;<\/div>\n
One equal temper of heroic hearts,<\/div>\n
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will<\/div>\n
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.<\/div>\n
.<\/span>
\nby Alfred, Lord Tennyson, 1809 – 1892<\/div>\n
.<\/span><\/div>\n
—<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
.<\/span>
\nAs both a poet and also a Fantasy novelist, the great narrative poems, and those that address classical themes, are dear to my heart. In a long and distinguished career, Alfred, Lord Tennyson addressed many legendary and mythological topics, including the poems from the Arthurian cycle, and those inspired by Homer’s The Odyssey<\/em>.
\n.<\/span>
\nEarlier this year, I featured The Lotos Eaters<\/a> and today it is the great Ulysses<\/em>. I do not think Homer would be disappointed by the treatment of his hero — but this is more than just a narrative poem. The language is wonderful and the lines powerful, but the “voice” of the aged king and hero is also a deeply reflective one — reflection that captures something of the most positive aspect of the human spirit:<\/div>\n
\n

.<\/span>
\n” … yearning in desire<\/em>
\nTo follow knowledge like a sinking star,<\/em>
\nBeyond the utmost bound of human thought.”<\/em><\/p>\n

I am sure you will find many individual lines and phrases that you recognise, but the whole poem is powerful and accomplished work.<\/p>\n

—<\/p>\n

\"TuesPoem\"<\/a>To read this week\u2019s poem on the Tuesday Poem Hub<\/strong>, and other great poems featured by fellow Tuesday poets from around the world, click here<\/strong><\/a>.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Ulysses 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 […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-30257","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/helenlowe.info\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/30257","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/helenlowe.info\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/helenlowe.info\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/helenlowe.info\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/helenlowe.info\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=30257"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/helenlowe.info\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/30257\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":30262,"href":"https:\/\/helenlowe.info\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/30257\/revisions\/30262"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/helenlowe.info\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=30257"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/helenlowe.info\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=30257"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/helenlowe.info\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=30257"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}