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
House of Books
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*A little summation for National Reading Month...*
I live in a house of books. They line part of almost every room. In two
there are shelves ceiling to f...
3 days ago
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