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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
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
Time
Harmony
Milton
Sing
Skilled
Eternity
Organ
England
Inventor
Name
Mighty
Names
Organs
Resound
Age
Gifted
Mouthed
Voice
Ages
Harmonies

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The dirty nurse, Experience, in her kind Hath fouled me.
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Of happy men that have the power to die, And grassy barrows of the happier dead.
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Shape your heart to front the hour, but dream not that the hours will last.
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And every dew-drop paints a bow.
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Men, my brothers, men the workers, ever reaping something new.
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All night have the roses heard The flute, violin, bassoon All night has the casement jessamine stirr'd To the dancers dancing in tune Till a silence fell with the waking bird, And a hush with the setting moon.
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Every man, for the sake of the great blessed Mother in Heaven, and for the love of his own little mother on earth, should handle all womankind gently, and hold them in all Honor.
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The sin That neither God nor man can well forgive.
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What rights are those that dare not resist for them?
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A doubtful throne is ice on summer seas.
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All is well, tho' faith and form Be sunder'd in the night of fear.
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He that wrongs a friend Wrongs himself more, and ever bears about A silent court of justice in his breast, Himself the judge and jury, and himself The prisoner at the bar ever condemned.
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And wheresoe'er thou move, good luck Shall fling her old shoe after.
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I came in haste with cursing breath, And heart of hardest steel But when I saw thee cold in death, I felt as man should feel. For when I look upon that face, That cold, unheeding, frigid brown, Where neither rage nor fear has place, By Heaven! I cannot hate thee now!
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The jingling of the guinea helps the hurt that Honor feels.
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The mighty hopes that make us men.
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