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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
Breaking
Torrents
Height
Thunders
Meet
Starry
Feet
Shook
Heard
Heights
Freedom
Thunder
Light
Sat
Lights

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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.
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With a little hoard of maxims preaching down a daughter's heart.
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The vow that binds too strictly snaps itself.
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The mirror crack'd from side to side The curse has come upon me, cried The Lady of Shalott
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A simple maiden in her flower, Is worth a hundred coats of arms.
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And men, whose reason long was blind, From cells of madness unconfined, Oft lose whole years of darker mind.
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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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I stood on a tower in the wet, And New Year and Old Year met, And winds were roaring and blowing: And I said, O years, that meet in tears, Have ye aught that is worth the knowing? Science enough and exploring, Wanderers coming and going, Matter enough for deploring, But aught that is worth the knowing?
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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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And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint sweet cuckoo-flowers.
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All experience is an arch wherethrough gleams that untravelled world whose margin fades for ever and for ever when I move.
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I am half-sick of shadows,' said The Lady of Shalott.
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There twice a day the Severn fills The salt sea-water passes by, And hushes half the babbling Wye, And makes a silence in the hills.
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I have led her home, my love, my only friend. There is none like her, none, And never yet so warmly ran my blood, And sweetly, on and on Calming itself to the long-wished for end, Full to the banks, close on the prom- ised good.
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Some full-breasted swan That, fluting a wild carol ere her death, Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood With swarthy webs.
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O hark,O hear! how thin and clear And thinner, clearer, farther going! O sweet and far from cliff and scar The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying: Blow, bugle answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
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The wind sounds like a silver wire, And from beyond the noon a fire Is pour'd upon the hills, and nigher The skies stoop down in their desire And, isled in sudden seas of light, My heart, pierced thro' with fierce delight, Bursts into blossom in his sight.
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Beauty and anguish walking hand in hand the downward slope to death.
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