The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks;
The long day wanes; the slow moon climbs; the deep
Moans round with its 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.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
On Turning 71 in 2017: Reporting Yet
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*My 71st Year*
*After surmounting three-score and ten,*
*With all their chances, changes, losses, sorrows,*
*My parents' deaths, the vagaries of my life,...
15 hours ago
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