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As she fled fast through sun and shade The happy winds upon her play'd, Blowing the ringlet from the braid.
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
Sun
Wind
Braid
Happiness
Braids
Happy
Fled
Upon
Blowing
Play
Winds
Shade
Fast
More quotes by Alfred Lord Tennyson
Nature, so far as in her lies, imitates God.
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Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers.
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Oh good gray head which all men knew!
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So sad, so fresh the days that are no more.
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Cast all your cares on God that anchor holds.
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Love lieth deep Love dwells not in lip-depths Love laps his wings on either side the heart Absorbing all the incense of sweet thoughts, So that they pass not to the shrine of sound.
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She has a lovely face God in his mercy lend her grace, The Lady of Shalott.
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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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I the heir of all the ages, in the foremost files of time.
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And every dew-drop paints a bow.
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He clasps the crag with crooked hands Close to the sun in lonely lands, Ringed with the azure world, he stands. The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls He watches from his mountain walls, And like a thunderbolt he falls.
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If I make dark my countenance, I shut my life from happier chance.
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Who loves not Knowledge? Who shall rail Against her beauty? May she mix With men and prosper! Who shall fix Her pillars? Let her work prevail.
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How many a father have I seen, A sober man, among his boys, Whose youth was full of foolish noise.
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Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, and I linger on the shore, And the individual withers, and the world is more and more.
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He that wrongs his friend, wrongs himself more.
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Fill the cup, and fill the can: Have a rouse before the morn: Every moment dies a man, Every moment one is born.
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I know that age to age succeeds, Blowing a noise of tongues and deeds, A dust of systems and of creeds.
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I envy not in any moods The captive void of noble rage, The linnet born within the cage, That never knew the summer woods.
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The Lord let the house of a brute to the soul of a man, And the man said, Am I your debtor? And the Lord--Not yet: but make it as clean as you can, And then I will let you a better.
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