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Oh yet we trust that somehow good will be the final goal of ill!
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
Ill
Final
Finals
Somehow
Trust
Goal
Good
More quotes by Alfred Lord Tennyson
How fares it with the happy dead?
Alfred Lord Tennyson
All experience is an arch wherethrough gleams that untravelled world whose margin fades for ever and for ever when I move.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Nor at all can tell Whether I mean this day to end myself, Or lend an ear to Plato where he says, That men like soldiers may not quit the post Allotted by the Gods.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
For now the poet cannot die, Nor leave his music as of old, But round him ere he scarce be cold Begins the scandal and the cry.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Woman is the lesser man.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Let observation with extended observation observe extensively.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
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.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
And wheresoe'er thou move, good luck Shall fling her old shoe after.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
He that wrongs his friend, wrongs himself more.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Because right is right, to follow right Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Virtue!--to be good and just-- Every heart, when sifted well, Is a clot of warmer dust, Mix'd with cunning sparks of hell.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
We are self-uncertain creatures, and we may Yea, even when we know not, mix our spites And private hates with our defence of Heaven.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
A pasty costly-made, Where quail and pigeon, lark and leveret lay, Like fossils of the rock, with golden yolks Imbedded and injellied.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Yonder cloud That rises upward always higher, And onward drags a laboring breast, And topples round the dreary west, A looming bastion fringed with fire.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
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
Ah, when shall all men's good Be each man's rule, and universal peace Lie like a shaft of light across the land, And like a lane of beams athwart the sea, Thro' all the circle of the golden year?
Alfred Lord Tennyson
All is well, tho' faith and form Be sunder'd in the night of fear.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
And this gray spirit yearning in desire To follow knowledge like a sinking star, Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Four grey walls, and four grey towers, Overlook a space of flowers, And the silent isle imbowers The Lady of Shalott.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
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
