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...
we are...[o]ne equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time... but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield. (Tennyson)
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