Deskira Industries [DICK.]

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