User:Redeem

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I'll call you on your shit.

Please call me on mine.

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         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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