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Flower in the crannied wall, I pluck you out of the crannies, I hold you here, root and all, in my hand, Little flower-but if I could understand What you are, root and all, all in all, I should know what God and man is.

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
Hold
Pluck
Hand
Springtime
Understand
April
Nature
Root
Hands
Roots
Littles
Spring
Little
Flower
Crannies
Men
Wall
Pansies

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Blow trumpet, for the world is white with May.
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Tho' much is taken, much abides.
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if you don't concentrate on what you are doing then the thing that you are doing is not what you are thinking.
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A lie that is half-truth is the darkest of all lies.
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The wild swan's death-hymn took the soul Of that waste place with joy Hidden in sorrow: at first to the ear The warble was low, and full and clear.
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I know that age to age succeeds, Blowing a noise of tongues and deeds, A dust of systems and of creeds.
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Twilight and evening bell, And after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell, When I embark For though from out our bourne of Time and Place The flood may bear me far, I hope to see my Pilot face to face When I have crossed the bar.
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Till last by Philip's farm I flow To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go, But I go on for ever.
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The jingling of the guinea helps the hurt that Honor feels.
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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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Read my little fable: He that runs may read. Most can raise the flowers now, For all have got the seed.
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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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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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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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The night comes on that knows not morn, When I shall cease to be all alone, To live forgotten, and love forlorn.
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We cannot be kind to each other here for even an hour. We whisper, and hint, and chuckle and grin at our brother's shame however you take it we men are a little breed.
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Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the chords with might Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, passed in music out of sight.
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As the husband is the wife is thou art mated with a clown, As the grossness of his nature will have weight to drag thee down.
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Shall it not be scorn to me to harp on such a moulder'd string? I am shamed through all my nature to have lov'd so slight a thing.
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