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| Subtitle | with Parts of Idylls of the King |
| Editor | Myra Reynolds |
| First Written | 1892 |
| Genre | Poetry |
| Origin | UK |
| Publisher | Scott, Foresman and Company |
| My Copy | 1913 blue clothbound hardback |
| First Read | May 19, 2012 |
Selections from The Poems of Tennyson
OK, I know I say this about every old author I discover, but all the same: why didn't anybody tell me Tennyson is so good?
I saw a reference to Ulysses recently, and followed it up. One super Google search later, and I have a new poet-of-the-month.
Noted on May 20, 2012
I am become a name.
Quoted on May 20, 2012
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.
- from "Ulysses"
Quoted on May 20, 2012