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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
Use
Measured
Heart
Dull
Like
Lies
Exercise
Brain
Unquiet
Lying
Numbing
Language
Narcotics
Pain
Mechanic
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After-dinner talk Across the walnuts and the wine.
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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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Oh yet we trust that somehow good will be the final goal of ill!
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What's up is faith, what's down is heresy.
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Faith lives in honest doubt.
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A beam in darkness: let it grow.
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Tis held that sorrow makes us wise.
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In time there is no present, In eternity no future, In eternity no past.
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What is it all but a trouble of ants in the gleam of a million million of suns?
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Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough Gleams that untraveled world whose margin fades Forever and forever when I move. 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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Every moment dies a man, Every moment one is born.
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Woman is the lesser man.
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Love lieth deep Love dwells not in lip-depths Love laps his wings on either side the heart Absorbing all the incense of sweet thoughts, So that they pass not to the shrine of sound.
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For every worm beneath the moon Draws different threads, and late and soon Spins, toiling out his own cocoon.
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There is sweet music here that softer falls Than petals from blown roses on the grass.
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Authority forgets a dying king.
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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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Evolution ever climbing after some ideal good, And Reversion ever dragging Evolution in the mud.
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