It little profits that an idle king, / By this still hearth, among these barren crags, / Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole / Unequal laws unto a savage race, / That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me. / I cannot rest from travel: I will drink / Life to the lees; all times I have enjoy'd / Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those / That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when / Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades / Vext the dim sea: I am become a name; / For always roaming with a hungry heart / Much have I seen and known; cities of men / And manners, climates, councils, governments, / Myself not least, but honour'd of them all; / And drunk delight of battle with my peers, / Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy, / I am a part of all that I have met; / Yet all experience is an arch wherethro' / Gleams that untravell'd world, whose margin fades / For ever and for ever when I move.