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O mighty-mouthed inventor of harmonies, O skilled to sing of Time or Eternity, God-gifted organ-voice of England, Milton, a name to resound for ages.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Alfred Lord Tennyson
Age: 83 †
Born: 1809
Born: August 6
Died: 1892
Died: October 6
Poet
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Somersby
Lincolnshire
Alfred Tennyson
1st Baron Tennyson
Lord Alfred Tennyson
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Alfred Tennyson
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1st Baron Tennyson of Aldworth and Freshwater Alfred Tennyson
Alfred Tennyson d'Eyncourt
Lord Tennyson Alfred
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Alfred
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England
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More quotes by Alfred Lord Tennyson
What is it all but a trouble of ants in the gleam of a million million of suns?
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Our echoes roll from soul to soul, And grow for ever and for ever.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
The bearing and the training of a child Is woman's wisdom.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Science grows and Beauty dwindles.
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Half a league, half a league, Half a league onward, All in the valley of Death Rode the six hundred.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
The night comes on that knows not morn, When I shall cease to be all alone, To live forgotten, and love forlorn.
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And sometimes through the mirror blue The knights come riding two and two.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Red of the Dawn Is it turning a fainter red? so be it, but when shall we lay The ghost of the Brute that is walking and hammering us yet and be free?
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The woods are hush'd, their music is no more The leaf is dead, the yearning past away New leaf, new life--the days of frost are o'er New life, new love, to suit the newer day: New loves are sweet as those that went before: Free love--free field--we love but while we may.
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Only reapers, reaping early In among the bearded barley, Hear a song that echoes cheerly From the river winding clearly, Down to towered Camelot.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
The dirty nurse, Experience, in her kind Hath fouled me.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
the shell must break before the bird can fly.
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He that shuts love out, in turn shall be Shut out from love, and on her threshold lie, Howling in outer darkness.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
O Love! they die in yon rich sky, They faint on hill or field or river: Our echoes roll from soul to soul, And grow forever and forever. Blow, bugle, blow! set the wild echoes flying! And answer, echoes, answer! dying, dying, dying.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Not once or twice in our rough island story, The path of duty was the way to glory.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
The old order changeth, yielding place to new, and god fulfills himself in many ways, lest one good custom should corrupt the world.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
The year is dying in the night.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Many a night I saw the Pleiads, Rising thro' the mellow shade, Glitter like a swarm of fire-flies, Tangled in a silver braid.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
The woods decay, the woods decay and fall.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
