Quote

Lady, for indeed I loved you and I deemed you beautiful, I cannot brook to see your beauty marred Through evil spite: and if ye love me not, I cannot bear to dream you so forsworn: I had liefer ye were worthy of my love, Than to be loved again of you - farewell And though ye kill my hope, not yet my love, Vex not yourself: ye will not see me more.

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
Cannot
Bears
Deemed
Dream
Kill
Brooks
Love
Loved
Farewell
Life
Beauty
Lady
Though
Spite
Evil
Bear
Vex
Hope
Worthy
Marred
Beautiful
Indeed
Brook

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The mighty hopes that make us men.
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France had shown a light to all men, preached a Gospel, all men's good Celtic Demos rose a Demon, shriek'd and slaked the light with blood.
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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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Attain the unattainable.
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Authority forgets a dying king.
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The old order changeth, yielding place to new, and god fulfills himself in many ways, lest one good custom should corrupt the world.
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This round of green, this orb of flame, Fantastic beauty such as lurks In some wild poet, when he works Without a conscience or an aim.
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Let observation with extended observation observe extensively.
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Once in a golden hour, I cast to earth a seed, And up there grew a flower, That others called a weed.
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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 old order changes yielding place to new.
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Not once or twice in our rough island story, The path of duty was the way to glory.
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I thought I could not breathe in that fine air That pure severity of perfect light I yearned for warmth and colour which I found In Lancelot.
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What was once to me mere matter of the fancy now has grown the vast necessity of heart and life.
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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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The vow that binds too strictly snaps itself.
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Old men must die, or the world would grow mouldy, would only breed the past again.
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Though thou wert scattered to the wind, Yet is there plenty of the kind.
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Who is this? And what is here? And in the lighted palace near Died the sound of royal cheer And they crossed themselves for fear, All the Knights at Camelot But Lancelot mused a little space He said, She has a lovely face God in his mercy lend her grace, The Lady of Shalott.
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Tis not your work, but Love's. Love, unperceived, A more ideal Artist he than all, Came, drew your pencil from you, made those eyes Darker than the darkest pansies, and that hair More black than ashbuds in the front of March.
Alfred Lord Tennyson