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Of old sat Freedom on the heights The thunders breaking at her feet: Above her shook the starry lights She heard the torrents meet.
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
Freedom
Thunder
Light
Sat
Lights
Breaking
Torrents
Height
Thunders
Meet
Starry
Feet
Shook
Heard
Heights
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Blind and naked ignorance delivers brawling judgments, unashamed, on all things all day long
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Let knowledge grow from more to more, But more of reverence in us dwell That mind and soul, according well, May make one music as before, But vaster.
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Nor is it wiser to weep a true occasion lost, but trim our sails, and let old bygones be.
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Like glimpses of forgotten dreams.
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How dull it is to pause, to make an end, to rust unburnished, not to shine in use! As though to breathe were life.
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Earth is dry to the centre, But spring, a new comer, A spring rich and strange, Shall make the winds blow Round and round, Thro' and thro', Here and there, Till the air And the ground Shall be fill'd with life anew.
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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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What the sunshine is to the flower, the Lord Jesus Christ is to my soul.
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With a little hoard of maxims preaching down a daughter's heart.
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All things human change.
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I wind about, and in and out, - With here a blossom sailing, - And here and there a lusty trout, - And here and there a grayling.
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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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Sweet is true love that is given in vain, and sweet is death that takes away pain.
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The folly of all follies is to be love sick for a shadow.
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Virtue must shape itself in deed.
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I remain Mistress of mine own self and mine own soul
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Better not to be at all Than not to be noble.
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Virtue!--to be good and just-- Every heart, when sifted well, Is a clot of warmer dust, Mix'd with cunning sparks of hell.
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A classic lecture, rich in sentiment, With scraps of thundrous Epic lilted out By violet-hooded Doctors, elegies And quoted odes, and jewels five-words-long, That on the stretched forefinger of all Time Sparkle for ever.
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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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