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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
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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
Court
Jury
Bears
Breast
Friendship
Prisoner
Friend
Breasts
Silence
Bars
Justice
Judge
Ever
Silent
Wrongs
Judging
Condemned
More quotes by Alfred Lord Tennyson
Love lieth deep Love dwells not in lip-depths.
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For always roaming with a hungry heart.
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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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Attain the unattainable.
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So many worlds, so much to do, so little done, such things to be.
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I know transplanted human worth will bloom to profit otherwhere.
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She hath no loyal knight and true, The Lady of Shalott.
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Come into the garden, Maud, For the black bat, night, has flown Come into the garden, Maud, I am here at the gate alone: And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad, And the musk of the rose is blown. For a breeze of morning moves, And the planet of Love is on high, Beginning to faint in the light that she loves On a bed of daffodil sky.
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The time draws near the birth of Christ The moon is hid the night is still The Christmas bells from hill to hill Answer each other in the mist.
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Too much wit makes the world rotten.
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I am going a long way With these thou seëst-if indeed I go (For all my mind is clouded with a doubt)- To the island-valley of Avilion, Where falls not hail or rain or any snow, Nor ever wind blows loudly but it lies Deep-meadow'd, happy, fair with orchard lawns And bowery hollows crown'd with summer sea, Where I will heal me of my grievous wound.
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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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Come, Time, and teach me many years, I do not suffer in dream For now so strange do these things seem, Mine eyes have leisure for their tears.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint sweet cuckoo-flowers.
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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.
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Jewels five-words-long, That on the stretch'd forefinger of all Time Sparkle forever.
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The song that nerves a nation's heart is in itself a deed.
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Nor is he the wisest man who never proved himself a fool.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
He makes no friend who never made a foe.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
I am half-sick of shadows,' said The Lady of Shalott.
Alfred Lord Tennyson