I cannot rest from travel, I will drink life to the lees: all times I have enjoyed greatly, have suffered greatly.I am a part of all that I have met; Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough gleams that untravelled world, whose margin fades.
For ever and for ever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnished, not to shine in use!
As though 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 grey spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a
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