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Ah, when shall all men's good Be each man's rule, and universal peace Lie like a shaft of light across the land, And like a lane of beams athwart the sea, Thro' all the circle of the golden year?

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
Year
Golden
Thro
Lying
Rule
Shaft
Peace
Across
Beams
Light
Sea
Lane
Years
Universal
Lanes
Good
Shall
Beam
Men
Land
Circle
Like
Humanity
Circles
Athwart

More quotes by Alfred Lord Tennyson

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Faith and unfaith can ne'er be equal powers Unfaith is aught is want of faith in all.
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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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Oh yet we trust that somehow good will be the final goal of ill!
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My life has crept so long on a broken wing Through cells of madness, haunts of horror and fear, That I come to be grateful at last for a little thing.
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Those who depend on the merits of their ancestors may be said to search in the roots of the tree for those fruits which the branches ought to produce.
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Love's too precious to be lost, A little grain shall not be spilt.
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I envy not in any moods The captive void of noble rage, The linnet born within the cage, That never knew the summer woods.
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Our wills are ours, we know not how Our wills are ours, to make them thine.
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There is sweet music here that softer falls Than petals from blown roses on the grass.
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No man ever got very high by pulling other people down. The intelligent merchant does not knock his competitors. The sensible worker does not work those who work with him. Don't knock your friends. Don't knock your enemies. Don't knock yourself.
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The voice of the dead was a living voice to me.
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Love is the only gold.
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Evolution ever climbing after some ideal good, And Reversion ever dragging Evolution in the mud.
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That man's the best cosmopolite Who loves his native country best.
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...and our spirits rushed together at the touching of the lips.
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I grow in worth, and wit, and sense, Unboding critic-pen, Or that eternal want of pence, Which vexes public men.
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But what am I? An infant crying in the night: An infant crying for the light: And with no language but a cry.
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Mastering the lawless science of our law,- that codeless myriad of precedent, that wilderness of single instances.
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From yon blue heaven above us bent, The grand old gardener and his wife Smile at the claims of long descent.
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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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