Earlier (Poems - 4th October 2015 blog) I had
mentioned that they bind the essence of life. Today, I wish to add that poems
sum up who we are in two lines they help us to draw courage in times of
distress.
Out of two poems,listed below, Invictus by William Earnest
Henley, inspires us to take our own decisions. Ulysses by Alfred Lord
Tennyson inspires us to be what we are and to accept it, as is and live accordingly.
Ulysses was popularized by M in Skyfall (23rd James Bond Movie).
Invictus
Out of the
night that covers me,
Black
as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank
whatever gods may be
For
my unconquerable soul.
In the fell
clutch of circumstance
I
have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the
bludgeonings of chance
My
head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this
place of wrath and tears
Looms
but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the
menace of the years
Finds
and shall find me unafraid.
It matters
not how strait the gate,
How
charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the
master of my fate,
I
am the captain of my soul.
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 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
forever 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,
'T is 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.
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