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God's finger touched him, and he slept.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Alfred Lord Tennyson
Age: 83 †
Born: 1809
Born: August 6
Died: 1892
Died: October 6
Poet
Politician
Writer
Somersby
Lincolnshire
Alfred Tennyson
1st Baron Tennyson
Lord Alfred Tennyson
Alcibiades
A. Tennyson
Alfred Tennyson
Baron Tennyson
Alfred Tennyson Tennyson
Tennyson
1st Baron Tennyson of Aldworth and Freshwater Alfred Tennyson
Alfred Tennyson d'Eyncourt
Lord Tennyson Alfred
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Alfred
Lord Tennyson
Funeral
Touched
Fingers
Dying
Eulogy
Death
Slept
Memorial
Grieving
Finger
More quotes by Alfred Lord Tennyson
The wind sounds like a silver wire, And from beyond the noon a fire Is pour'd upon the hills, and nigher The skies stoop down in their desire And, isled in sudden seas of light, My heart, pierced thro' with fierce delight, Bursts into blossom in his sight.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
So now I have sworn to bury All this dead body of hate I feel so free and so clear By the loss of that dead weight
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Oh good gray head which all men knew!
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Virtue!--to be good and just-- Every heart, when sifted well, Is a clot of warmer dust, Mix'd with cunning sparks of hell.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
This truth within thy mind rehearse, That in a boundless universe Is boundless better, boundless worse.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
But for the unquiet heart and brain A use in measured language lies The sad mechanic exercise Like dull narcotics numbing pain.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
He that wrongs a friend Wrongs himself more, and ever bears about A silent court of justice in his breast, Himself the judge and jury, and himself The prisoner at the bar ever condemned.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
The splendour falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story: The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Blow, bugle answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
One so small Who knowing nothing knows but to obey.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
And oft I heard the tender dove In firry woodlands making moan.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
That man's the true Conservative who lops the moldered branch away.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Oh yet we trust that somehow good will be the final goal of ill!
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Who is wise in love, love most, say least.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Dreams are true while they last, and do we not live in dreams?
Alfred Lord Tennyson
The woods decay, the woods decay and fall, The vapours weep their burthen to the ground, Man comes and tills the field and lies beneath, And after many summer dies the swan. Me only cruel immortality Consumes: I wither slowly in thine arms, Here at the quiet limit of the world.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
But what am I? An infant crying in the night: An infant crying for the light: And with no language but a cry.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
My doom is, I love thee still. Let no man dream but that I love thee still.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Oh that it were possible, After long grief and pain, To find the arms of my true love, Around me once again
Alfred Lord Tennyson
What! I should call on that Infinite Love that has served us so well? Infinite cruelty rather, that made everlasting hell, Made us, foreknew us, foredoom'd us, and does what he will with his own Better our dead brute mother who never has heard us groan.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
There twice a day the Severn fills The salt sea-water passes by, And hushes half the babbling Wye, And makes a silence in the hills.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
