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In the afternoon they came unto a land In which it seemed always afternoon. All round the coast the languid air did swoon, Breathing like one that hath a weary dream.
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
Came
Hath
Dream
Afternoon
Always
Round
Like
Rounds
Swoon
Breathing
Languid
Seemed
Coast
Air
Weary
Land
Unto
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Jewels five-words-long, That on the stretch'd forefinger of all Time Sparkle forever.
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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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The voice of the dead was a living voice to me.
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Old men must die, or the world would grow mouldy, would only breed the past again.
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Either sex alone is half itself.
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And wheresoe'er thou move, good luck Shall fling her old shoe after.
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My mind is clouded with a doubt.
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The smell of violets, hidden in the green, Pour'd back into my empty soul and frame The times when I remembered to have been Joyful and free from blame.
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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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Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
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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.
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Our little systems have their day They have their day and cease to be… And thou, O Lord, art more than they.
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A still small voice spake unto me, 'Thou art so full of misery, Were it not better not to be?
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Who is this? And what is here? And in the lighted palace near Died the sound of royal cheer And they crossed themselves for fear, All the Knights at Camelot But Lancelot mused a little space He said, She has a lovely face God in his mercy lend her grace, The Lady of Shalott.
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That which we are, we are, and if we are ever to be any better, now is the time to begin.
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Better not to be at all Than not to be noble.
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It was my duty to have loved the highest It surely was my profit had I known: It would have been my pleasure had I seen. We needs must love the highest when we see it, Not Lancelot, nor another.
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I can't sleep without knowing there's hope. Half the night I waste in sighs. In a wakeful doze I sorrow. For the hands, for the lips... the eyes. For the meeting of tomorrow.
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Cricket, however, has more in it than mere efficiency. There is something called the spirit of cricket, which cannot be defined.
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Things seen are mightier than things heard.
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