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O son, thou hast not true humility, The highest virtue, mother of them all But her thou hast not know for what is this? Thou thoughtest of thy prowess and thy sins Thou hast not lost thyself to save thyself.
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
Mother
Humility
True
Son
Save
Prowess
Sin
Hast
Losing
Thyself
Highest
Motherhood
Virtue
Sins
Lost
Thou
More quotes by Alfred Lord Tennyson
A daughter of the gods, divinely tall, And most divinely fair.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
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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Man's word is God in man.
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The woods decay, the woods decay and fall.
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There twice a day the Severn fills The salt sea-water passes by, And hushes half the babbling Wye, And makes a silence in the hills.
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The Gods themselves cannot recall their gifts.
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What's up is faith, what's down is heresy.
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Live and lie reclined On the hills like Gods together, careless of mankind. For they lie beside their nectar, and the bolts are hurled Far below them in the valleys, and the clouds are lightly curled Round their golden houses, girdled with the gleaming world.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls.
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Men, my brothers, men the workers, ever reaping something new.
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All precious things, discover'd late, To those that seek them issue forth, For love in sequel works with fate, And draws the veil from hidden worth.
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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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Shall it not be scorn to me to harp on such a moulder'd string? I am shamed through all my nature to have lov'd so slight a thing.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
the shell must break before the bird can fly.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
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.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Nature, red in tooth and claw.
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My strength is as the strength of ten, because my heart is pure.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Who is wise in love, love most, say least.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
The folly of all follies is to be love sick for a shadow.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
He that wrongs his friend, wrongs himself more.
Alfred Lord Tennyson