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Whate'er thy joys, they vanish with the day: Whate'er thy griefs, in sleep they fade away, To sleep! to sleep! Sleep, mournful heart, and let the past be past: Sleep, happy soul, all life will sleep at last.

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
Past
Fades
Soul
Grief
Whate
Heart
Joy
Mournful
Life
Sleep
Griefs
Lasts
Vanish
Last
Fade
Happy
Joys
Away
Grieving

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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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Arise, go forth, and conquer as of old.
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For I dipped into the future, far as human eye could see, Saw the Vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be.
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The woods are hush'd, their music is no more The leaf is dead, the yearning past away New leaf, new life--the days of frost are o'er New life, new love, to suit the newer day: New loves are sweet as those that went before: Free love--free field--we love but while we may.
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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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Nature, red in tooth and claw.
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Dead sounds at night come from the inmost hills. Like footsteps upon wool.
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Oh for someone with a heart, head and hand. Whatever they call them, what do I care, aristocrat, democrat, autocrat, just be it one that can rule and dare not lie.
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We needs must love the highest when we see it.
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O love, O fire! once he drew With one long kiss my whole soul through My lips, as sunlight drinketh dew.
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Sunset and evening star, And one clear call for me! And may there be no moaning of the bar When I put out to sea.
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Her court was pure, her life serene God gave her peace her land reposed A thousand claims to reverence closed.
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Shall the hag Evil die with the child of Good, Or propagate again her loathèd kind, Thronging the cells of the diseased mind, Hateful with hanging cheeks, a withered brood, Though hourly pastured on the salient blood?
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Men at most differ as Heaven and Earth, but women, worst and best, as Heaven and Hell.
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Like a dog, he hunts in dreams.
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Who is wise in love, love most, say least.
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All experience is an arch wherethro' gleams that untraveled world whose margins fade forever and forever as we move.
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Of happy men that have the power to die, And grassy barrows of the happier dead.
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And down I went to fetch my bride: But, Alice, you were ill at ease This dress and that by turns you tried, Too fearful that you should not please. I loved you better for your fears, I knew you could not look but well And dews, that would have fall'n in tears, I kiss'd away before they fell.
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