Come, my friends,
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order suits
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.
Though mush is taken, much absides; and though
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 faith, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find and not to yeld.

Alfred, Lord Tennyson