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But for the unquiet heart and brain A use in measured language lies The sad mechanic exercise Like dull narcotics numbing pain.

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
Language
Narcotics
Pain
Mechanic
Use
Measured
Heart
Dull
Like
Lies
Exercise
Brain
Unquiet
Lying
Numbing

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It may be that no life is found, Which only to one engine bound Falls off, but cycles always round.
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Ah! well away! Seasons flower and fade.
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The mighty hopes that make us men.
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And on her lover's arm she leant, And round her waist she felt it fold, And far across the hills they went In that new world which is the old.
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That loss is common would not make My own less bitter, rather more: Too common! Never morning wore To evening, but some heart did break.
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There's no glory like those who save their country.
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Cleave ever to the sunnier side of doubt.
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I will be deafer than the blue-eyed cat, And thrice as blind as any noonday owl, To holy virgins in their ecstasies.
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And blessings on the falling out That all the more endears, When we fall out with those we love And kiss again with tears!
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Tis not your work, but Love's. Love, unperceived, A more ideal Artist he than all, Came, drew your pencil from you, made those eyes Darker than the darkest pansies, and that hair More black than ashbuds in the front of March.
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I can't sleep without knowing there's hope. Half the night I waste in sighs. In a wakeful doze I sorrow. For the hands, for the lips... the eyes. For the meeting of tomorrow.
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Where love could walk with banish'd Hope no more.
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Can calm despair and wild unrest Be tenants of a single breast, Or sorrow such a changeling be?
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Who loves not Knowledge? Who shall rail Against her beauty? May she mix With men and prosper! Who shall fix Her pillars? Let her work prevail.
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His honour rooted in dishonour stood, And faith unfaithful kept him falsely true.
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It is the little rift within the lute That by and by will make the music mute, And ever widening slowly silence all.
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Kind hearts are more than coronets, And simple faith than Norman blood.
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Weeded and worn the ancient thatch Upon the lonely moated grange.
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We are all a part of every person we have ever met.
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