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A man had given all other bliss, And all his worldly worth for this To waste his whole heart in one kiss Upon her perfect lips.
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
Men
Lips
Waste
Worth
Upon
Perfect
Worldly
Given
Bliss
Whole
Kiss
Heart
Kissing
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She left the web, she left the loom, She made three paces through the room
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In the long years liker they must grow The man be more of woman, she of man.
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Dreams are true while they last, and do we not live in dreams?
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Shall it not be scorn to me to harp on such a moulder'd string? I am shamed through all my nature to have lov'd so slight a thing.
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I have led her home, my love, my only friend. There is none like her, none, And never yet so warmly ran my blood, And sweetly, on and on Calming itself to the long-wished for end, Full to the banks, close on the prom- ised good.
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Whatever crazy sorrow saith, No life that breathes with human breath Has ever truly longed for death.
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O Love! what hours were thine and mine, In lands of palm and southern pine In lands of palm, of orange-blossom, Of olive, aloe, and maize and vine!
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All experience is an arch wherethrough gleams that untravelled world whose margin fades for ever and for ever when I move.
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By blood a king, in heart a clown.
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All experience is an arch wherethro' gleams that untraveled world whose margins fade forever and forever as we move.
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Ring out the false, ring in the true.
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But what am I? An infant crying in the night: An infant crying for the light: And with no language but a cry.
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O last regret, regret can die!
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I will take some savage woman, she shall rear my dusky race.
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And out of darkness came the hands that reach through nature, moulding men.
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Manners are not idle, but the fruit of loyal and of noble mind.
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