ITS URGENT Select the correct text in the passage. Which lines in the excerpt blend romantic descriptions of nature with realistic descriptions? choices are in brackets Ulysses by Alfred, Lord Tennyson (excerpt) 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 forever when I move.] How dull it is to pause, to make an end, To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use! As tho' to breathe were life! Life piled on life Were all too little, and of one to me Little remains: but every hour is saved From that eternal silence, something more, A bringer of new things; and vile it were For some three suns to store and hoard myself, And this gray spirit yearning in desire To follow knowledge like a sinking star, Beyond the utmost bound of human thought. . . . There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail: There gloom the dark, broad seas. My mariners, Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with me— That ever with a frolic welcome took The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed Free hearts, free foreheads—you and I are old; Old age hath yet his honour and his toil; Death closes all: but something ere the end, Some work of noble note, may yet be done, Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods. [The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks: The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,] 'T is 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.]