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O Love! what hours were thine and mine, In lands of palm and southern pine In lands of palm, of orange-blossom, Of olive, aloe, and maize and vine!
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
Palms
Vine
Orange
Olives
Southern
Pine
Mines
Vines
Mine
Palm
Land
Thine
Hours
Blossom
Maize
Love
Lands
Olive
More quotes by Alfred Lord Tennyson
Faith lives in honest doubt.
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I am a part of all that I have met.
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I remain Mistress of mine own self and mine own soul
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The words 'far, far away' had always a strange charm.
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She hath no loyal knight and true, The Lady of Shalott.
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Every moment dies a man, Every moment one is born.
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To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
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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
Attain the unattainable.
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Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Little breezes dusk and shiver.
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That which we are, we are.
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Gone - flitted away, Taken the stars from the night and the sun From the day! Gone, and a cloud in my heart.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Once in a golden hour, I cast to earth a seed, And up there grew a flower, That others called a weed.
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Sweet is true love that is given in vain, and sweet is death that takes away pain.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
And wheresoe'er thou move, good luck Shall fling her old shoe after.
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Shall love be blamed for want of faith?
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Either sex alone is half itself.
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This round of green, this orb of flame, Fantastic beauty such as lurks In some wild poet, when he works Without a conscience or an aim.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Our echoes roll from soul to soul, And grow for ever and for ever.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
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.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
