Quote

She sleeps: her breathings are not heard In palace chambers far apart. The fragrant tresses are not stirr'd That lie upon her charmed heart She sleeps: on either hand upswells The gold-fringed pillow lightly prest: She sleeps, nor dreams, but ever dwells A perfect form in perfect rest.

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
Upon
Gold
Dwells
Perfect
Dreams
Palace
Hands
Rest
Lightly
Fringed
Dream
Either
Palaces
Tresses
Form
Hand
Pillow
Fragrant
Ever
Sleep
Chamber
Chambers
Heart
Heard
Breathing
Charmed
Lying
Apart
Sleeps

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Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
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Shall the hag Evil die with the child of Good, Or propagate again her loathèd kind, Thronging the cells of the diseased mind, Hateful with hanging cheeks, a withered brood, Though hourly pastured on the salient blood?
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Let knowledge grow from more to more, But more of reverence in us dwell That mind and soul, according well, May make one music as before, But vaster.
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Sweet is true love, though given in vain.
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We are all a part of every person we have ever met.
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the shell must break before the bird can fly.
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Her court was pure, her life serene God gave her peace her land reposed A thousand claims to reverence closed.
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If Nature put not forth her power About the opening of the flower, Who is it that could live an hour?
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What is it all but a trouble of ants in the gleam of a million million of suns?
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Though much is taken, much abides and though We are not now that strength which in old days Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are One equal temper of heroic hearts, Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
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Life is brief but love is LONG .
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The woods decay, the woods decay and fall.
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I can't sleep without knowing there's hope. Half the night I waste in sighs. In a wakeful doze I sorrow. For the hands, for the lips... the eyes. For the meeting of tomorrow.
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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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Thoroughly to believe in one's own self, so one's self were thorough, were to do great things.
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Ring out old shapes of foul disease, Ring out the narrowing lust of gold Ring out the thousand wars of old, Ring in the thousand years of peace.
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Yonder cloud That rises upward always higher, And onward drags a laboring breast, And topples round the dreary west, A looming bastion fringed with fire.
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The long day wanes the slow moon climbs the deep.
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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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With a little hoard of maxims preaching down a daughter's heart.
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