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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.
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
Life
Chords
Passed
Sight
Took
Smote
Music
Harp
Might
Harps
Self
Chord
Love
Trembling
More quotes by Alfred Lord Tennyson
This barren verbiage, current among men, Light coin, the tinsel clink of compliment.
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An English homegrey twilight poured On dewy pasture, dewy trees, Softer than sleepall things in order stored, A haunt of ancient Peace.
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The folly of all follies is to be love sick for a shadow.
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He that wrongs a friend Wrongs himself more, and ever bears about A silent court of justice in his breast, Himself the judge and jury, and himself The prisoner at the bar ever condemned.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
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.
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A beam in darkness: let it grow.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Gone - flitted away, Taken the stars from the night and the sun From the day! Gone, and a cloud in my heart.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
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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Sweet is true love, though given in vain.
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You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear To-morrow'll be the happiest time of all the glad New Year,- Of all the glad New Year, mother, the maddest, merriest day For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be queen o' the May.
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Nor is he the wisest man who never proved himself a fool.
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Through the ages one increasing purpose runs.
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Arise, go forth, and conquer as of old.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
The dream Dreamed by a happy man, when the dark East, Unseen, is brightening to his bridal morn.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
I cannot rest from travel: I will drink Life to the lees: all times I have enjoyed Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those That loved me, and alone.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
The passionate heart of the poet is whirled into folly and vice.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Sweet is every sound, Sweeter thy voice, but every sound is sweet Myriads of rivulets hurrying thro' the lawn, The moans of doves in immemorial elms, And murmuring of innumerable bees.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
What! I should call on that Infinite Love that has served us so well? Infinite cruelty rather, that made everlasting hell, Made us, foreknew us, foredoom'd us, and does what he will with his own Better our dead brute mother who never has heard us groan.
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She sleeps: her breathings are not heard In palace chambers far apart. The fragrant tresses are not stirr'd That lie upon her charmed heart She sleeps: on either hand upswells The gold-fringed pillow lightly prest: She sleeps, nor dreams, but ever dwells A perfect form in perfect rest.
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God gives us love! Something to love He lends us but when love is grown To ripeness, that on which it throve Falls off, and love is left alone: This is the curse of time.
Alfred Lord Tennyson