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 … - Alfred Tennyson

My purpose holds to sail beyond the sunset and the baths of all the Western stars until I die.

And out again I curve and flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever.

Volver mi corazón de piedra, mi rostro de acero,
Engañar y ser engañada, y morir, ¿quién sabe?
Somos cenizas y polvo

There is sweet music here that softer falls Than petals from blown roses on the grass, Or night-dews on still waters between walls Of shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass; Music that gentlier on the spirit lies, Than tir'd eyelids upon tir'd eyes.