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Never, oh! never, nothing will die The stream flows, The wind blows, The cloud fleets, The heart beats, Nothing will 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
Heart
Blow
Never
Beats
Fleets
Flow
Blows
Dying
Flows
Wind
Cloud
Dies
Stream
Death
Streams
Nothing
Clouds
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The old order changes yielding place to new.
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There sinks the nebulous star we call the sun.
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Tho' much is taken, much abides.
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Happy days roll onward leading up to golden years.
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The long day wanes the slow moon climbs the deep.
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More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of.
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Man's word is God in man.
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Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer Than this world dreams of: Wherefore, let they voice, Rise like a fountain for me night and day.
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That man's the true Conservative who lops the moldered branch away.
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Woman is the lesser man, and all thy passions, match'd with mine, Are as moonlight unto sunlight, and as water unto wine.
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But thy strong Hours indignant work’d their wills, And beat me down and marr’d and wasted me, And tho’ they could not end me, left me maim’d To dwell in presence of immortal youth, Immortal age beside immortal youth, And all I was, in ashes. - Tithonus
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I hold it truth, with him who sings To one clear harp in divers tones, That men may rise on stepping-stones Of their dead selves to higher things.
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Ours is not to wonder why. Ours is just to do or die.
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O son, thou hast not true humility, The highest virtue, mother of them all But her thou hast not know for what is this? Thou thoughtest of thy prowess and thy sins Thou hast not lost thyself to save thyself.
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I am half-sick of shadows,' said The Lady of Shalott.
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Rich in saving common-sense, And, as the greatest only are, In his simplicity sublime.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
It is the little rift within the lute That by and by will make the music mute, And ever widening slowly silence all.
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She has a lovely face God in his mercy lend her grace, The Lady of Shalott.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
By shaping some august decree, Which kept her throne unshaken still, Broad-based upon her people's will, And compass'd by the inviolate sea.
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Better not to be at all Than not to be noble.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
