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This world was once a fluid haze of light, Till toward the centre set the starry tides, And eddied into suns, that wheeling cast The planets: then the monster, then the man.

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
World
Till
Suns
Planets
Fluid
Sun
Monster
Toward
Tides
Creation
Centre
Science
Monsters
Wheeling
Light
Cast
Starry
Men
Casts
Haze

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Kind hearts are more than coronets, And simple faith than Norman blood.
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I have led her home, my love, my only friend. There is none like her, none, And never yet so warmly ran my blood, And sweetly, on and on Calming itself to the long-wished for end, Full to the banks, close on the prom- ised good.
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Flower in the crannied wall, I pluck you out of the crannies, I hold you here, root and all, in my hand, Little flower-but if I could understand What you are, root and all, all in all, I should know what God and man is.
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Twilight and evening bell, And after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell, When I embark For though from out our bourne of Time and Place The flood may bear me far, I hope to see my Pilot face to face When I have crossed the bar.
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But thy strong Hours indignant work’d their wills, And beat me down and marr’d and wasted me, And tho’ they could not end me, left me maim’d To dwell in presence of immortal youth, Immortal age beside immortal youth, And all I was, in ashes. - Tithonus
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Nature, so far as in her lies, imitates God.
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But the churchmen fain would kill their church, As the churches have kill'd their Christ.
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Words, like nature, half reveal and half conceal the soul within.
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He that shuts love out, in turn shall be Shut out from love, and on her threshold lie, Howling in outer darkness.
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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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Ah, Christ, that it were possible, For one short hour to see The souls we loved, that they might tell us What and where they be.
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Let the great world spin for ever down the ringing grooves of change.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
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The splendour falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story: The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Blow, bugle answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
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The quiet sense of something lost
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In words, like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er, Like coarsest clothes against the cold
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Shall eagles not be eagles? wrens be wrens? If all the world were falcons, what of that? The wonder of the eagle were the less, But he not less the eagle.
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Wearing the white flower of a blameless life, Before a thousand peering littlenesses, In that fierce light which beats upon a throne, And blackens every blot.
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Dead sounds at night come from the inmost hills. Like footsteps upon wool.
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As the husband is, the wife is.
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I stood on a tower in the wet, And New Year and Old Year met, And winds were roaring and blowing: And I said, O years, that meet in tears, Have ye aught that is worth the knowing? Science enough and exploring, Wanderers coming and going, Matter enough for deploring, But aught that is worth the knowing?
Alfred Lord Tennyson