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The year is dying in the night.
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
Years
Dying
Year
Night
More quotes by Alfred Lord Tennyson
He that wrongs his friend, wrongs himself more.
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We are self-uncertain creatures, and we may Yea, even when we know not, mix our spites And private hates with our defence of Heaven.
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Her eyes are homes of silent prayers.
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And others' follies teach us not, Nor much their wisdom teaches, And most, of sterling worth, is what Our own experience preaches.
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Our wills are ours, we know not how Our wills are ours, to make them thine.
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Trust me not at all, or all in all.
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I built my soul a lordly pleasure-house, Wherein at ease for aye to dwell.
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Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred.
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All things human change.
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Wearing the white flower of a blameless life, Before a thousand peering littlenesses, In that fierce light which beats upon a throne, And blackens every blot.
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Where love could walk with banish'd Hope no more.
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If I make dark my countenance, I shut my life from happier chance.
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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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And so the Word had breath, and wrought With human hands the creed of creeds In loveliness of perfect deeds, More strong than all poetic thoughts Which he may read that binds the sheaf, Or builds the house, or digs the grave, And those wild eyes that watch the waves In roarings round the coral reef.
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Come into the garden, Maud, For the black bat, night, has flown Come into the garden, Maud, I am here at the gate alone: And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad, And the musk of the rose is blown. For a breeze of morning moves, And the planet of Love is on high, Beginning to faint in the light that she loves On a bed of daffodil sky.
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Nor is he the wisest man who never proved himself a fool.
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The folly of all follies is to be love sick for a shadow.
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Ring in the valiant man and free, The larger heart, the kindlier hand Ring out the darkness of the land Ring in the Christ that is to be.
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Lady, for indeed I loved you and I deemed you beautiful, I cannot brook to see your beauty marred Through evil spite: and if ye love me not, I cannot bear to dream you so forsworn: I had liefer ye were worthy of my love, Than to be loved again of you - farewell And though ye kill my hope, not yet my love, Vex not yourself: ye will not see me more.
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Virtue must shape itself in deed.
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