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Life is not as idle ore, But iron dug from central gloom, And heated hot with burning fears, And dipt in baths of hissing tears, And batter'd with the shocks of doom, To shape and use.
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
Tears
Central
Hissing
Use
Shock
Batter
Life
Iron
Heated
Fears
Shocks
Hot
Baths
Burning
Gloom
Shape
Doom
Shapes
Idle
More quotes by Alfred Lord Tennyson
Men, my brothers, men the workers, ever reaping something new, That which they have done but earnest of the things which they shall do.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
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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He will hold thee, when his passion shall have spent its novel force, Something better than his dog, a little dearer than his horse.
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Many a night I saw the Pleiads, Rising thro' the mellow shade, Glitter like a swarm of fire-flies, Tangled in a silver braid.
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Bible reading is an education in itself.
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Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
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We are all a part of every person we have ever met.
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By blood a king, in heart a clown.
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I will love thee to the death, And out beyond into the dream to come.
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Never, oh! never, nothing will die The stream flows, The wind blows, The cloud fleets, The heart beats, Nothing will die.
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Because right is right, to follow right Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence.
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In the afternoon they came unto a land In which it seemed always afternoon. All round the coast the languid air did swoon, Breathing like one that hath a weary dream.
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Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough Gleams that untraveled world whose margin fades Forever and forever when I move. 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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Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends, Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
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The vow that binds too strictly snaps itself.
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Faith lives in honest doubt.
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The many fail: the one succeeds.
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Four grey walls, and four grey towers, Overlook a space of flowers, And the silent isle imbowers The Lady of Shalott.
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The parting of a husband and wife is like the cleaving of a heart one half will flutter here, one there.
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