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The time draws near the birth of Christ The moon is hid the night is still The Christmas bells from hill to hill Answer each other in the mist.
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
Still
Draws
Time
Moon
Mist
Answer
Hill
Birth
Bells
Answers
Hills
Christ
Near
Night
Christmas
Stills
Healing
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Rich in saving common-sense, And, as the greatest only are, In his simplicity sublime.
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Her eyes are homes of silent prayers.
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Men, my brothers, men the workers, ever reaping something new, That which they have done but earnest of the things which they shall do.
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Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers.
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A beam in darkness: let it grow.
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Dreams are true while they last, and do we not live in dreams?
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My purpose holds to sail beyond the sunset and the baths of all the Western stars until I die.
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So sad, so fresh the days that are no more.
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All Life needs for life is possible to will.
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In time there is no present, In eternity no future, In eternity no past.
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There's no glory like those who save their country.
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The quiet sense of something lost
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Wearing the white flower of a blameless life, Before a thousand peering littlenesses, In that fierce light which beats upon a throne, And blackens every blot.
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A lie that is half-truth is the darkest of all lies.
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And down I went to fetch my bride: But, Alice, you were ill at ease This dress and that by turns you tried, Too fearful that you should not please. I loved you better for your fears, I knew you could not look but well And dews, that would have fall'n in tears, I kiss'd away before they fell.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
This truth within thy mind rehearse, That in a boundless universe Is boundless better, boundless worse.
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Sweet is true love that is given in vain, and sweet is death that takes away pain.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
