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My purpose holds to sail beyond the sunset and the baths of all the Western stars until I die.
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
Purpose
Baths
Sail
Sunset
Holds
Western
Beyond
Stars
Dies
More quotes by Alfred Lord Tennyson
But the churchmen fain would kill their church, As the churches have kill'd their Christ.
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In the Spring a livelier iris changes on the burnish'd dove In the Spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.
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On all things created remaineth the half-effaced signature of God, Somewhat of fair and good, though blotted by the finger of corruption.
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the shell must break before the bird can fly.
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It's better to have tried and failed than to live life wondering what would've happened if I had tried
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All the windy ways of men Are but dust that rises up, And is lightly laid again.
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Men, my brothers, men the workers, ever reaping something new.
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In the afternoon they came unto a land In which it seemed always afternoon. All round the coast the languid air did swoon, Breathing like one that hath a weary dream.
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Love is hurt with jar and fret Love is made a vague regret.
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Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Little breezes dusk and shiver.
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Nothing in Nature is unbeautiful.
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So I find every pleasant spot In which we two were wont to meet, The field, the chamber, and the street, For all is dark where thou art not
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A still small voice spake unto me, 'Thou art so full of misery, Were it not better not to be?
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Our wills are ours, we know not how Our wills are ours, to make them thine.
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Can calm despair and wild unrest Be tenants of a single breast, Or sorrow such a changeling be?
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Love's too precious to be lost, A little grain shall not be spilt.
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Of happy men that have the power to die, And grassy barrows of the happier dead.
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I am on fire within. There comes no murmur of reply. What is it that will take away my sin, And save me lest I die?
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In words, like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er, Like coarsest clothes against the cold
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Words, like nature, half reveal and half conceal the soul within.
Alfred Lord Tennyson