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Sweet is every sound, Sweeter thy voice, but every sound is sweet Myriads of rivulets hurrying thro' the lawn, The moans of doves in immemorial elms, And murmuring of innumerable bees.
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
Sound
Hurrying
Elms
Voice
Lawn
Rivulets
Music
Innumerable
Moans
Every
Sweeter
Myriads
Lawns
Thro
Dove
Doves
Bees
Immemorial
Sweet
Murmuring
More quotes by Alfred Lord Tennyson
Red of the Dawn Is it turning a fainter red? so be it, but when shall we lay The ghost of the Brute that is walking and hammering us yet and be free?
Alfred Lord Tennyson
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.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
There rolls the deep where grew the tree. O earth, what changes hast thou seen! There where the long street roars, hath been The stillness of the central sea. The hills are shadows, and they flow From form to form, and nothing stands They melt like mist, the solid lands, Like clouds they shape themselves and go.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Can calm despair and wild unrest Be tenants of a single breast, Or sorrow such a changeling be?
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers.
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
I hold it truth, with him who sings To one clear harp in divers tones, That men may rise on stepping-stones Of their dead selves to higher things.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Old age hath yet his honour and his toil.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
And ah for a man to arise in me, That the man I am may cease to be!
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Launch your vessel, And crowd your canvas, And, ere it vanishes Over the margin, After it, follow it, FollowThe Gleam.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Oh that it were possible, After long grief and pain, To find the arms of my true love, Around me once again
Alfred Lord Tennyson
That which we are, we are.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
The song that nerves a nation's heart is in itself a deed.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Come, Time, and teach me many years, I do not suffer in dream For now so strange do these things seem, Mine eyes have leisure for their tears.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
With a little hoard of maxims preaching down a daughter's heart.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Tears from the depths of some devine despair Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, In looking on the happy autumn fields, And thinking of the days that are no more.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
As love, if love be perfect, casts out fear, so hate, if hate be perfect, casts out fear.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
I loved you, and my love had no return, And therefore my true love has been my death.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
That which we are, we are, and if we are ever to be any better, now is the time to begin.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
A louse in the locks of literature.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
