"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 we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Though much is taken, much abides, and though 
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.

From Alfred, Lord Tennyson, "Ulysses," l. 56-60, in Three Victorian Poets, ed. Jane Ogborn (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998).