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We cannot be kind to each other here for even an hour. We whisper, and hint, and chuckle and grin at our brother's shame however you take it we men are a little breed.
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
Littles
Hints
Little
Whisper
Take
Shame
Even
Hour
Chuckle
Kind
However
Chuckles
Men
Brother
Grin
Hours
Hint
Cannot
Breed
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Shape your heart to front the hour, but dream not that the hours will last.
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Life is brief but love is LONG .
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The mirror crack'd from side to side The curse has come upon me, cried The Lady of Shalott
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Virtue must shape itself in deed.
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She is coming, my own, my sweet Were it ever so airy a tread, My heart would hear her and beat, Were it earth in an earthly bed My dust would hear her and beat, Had I lain for a century dead Would start and tremble under her feet, And blossom in purple and red.
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A smile abroad is often a scowl at home.
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Wearing all that weight Of learning lightly like a flower.
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My strength is as the strength of ten, because my heart is pure.
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All is well, tho' faith and form Be sunder'd in the night of fear.
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Forgive! How many will say, forgive, and find a sort of absolution in the sound to hate a little longer!
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I thought I could not breathe in that fine air That pure severity of perfect light I yearned for warmth and colour which I found In Lancelot.
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Words, like nature, half reveal and half conceal the soul within.
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Bible reading is an education in itself.
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I built my soul a lordly pleasure-house, Wherein at ease for aye to dwell.
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It is hard to wive and thrive both in a year.
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The quiet sense of something lost
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Battering the gates of heaven with the storms of prayer.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
To me He is all fault who hath no fault at all: For who loves me must have a touch of earth.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
We are ancients of the earth, And in the morning of the times.
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A sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier times.
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