Crossing the Barby Lord Alfred Tennyson
Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,
But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.
Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;
For though from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crossed the bar.
Ladies and Gentlemen, it's May! National Poetry Month is over, and we can return to not caring about poetry. I can hear a nation-wide sigh of relief. Poets in particular can return to their regular lives as longshoremen and astrophysicists, remember their roles as mothers and sons. Speaking of mothers, I hear we will be required to care about them one day this month. That, I suppose, is only fair. Though if your mother is a poet, you may have already done your time.