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A still small voice spake unto me, 'Thou art so full of misery, Were it not better not to be?
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
Small
Voice
Art
Stills
Spake
Still
Unto
Better
Thou
Misery
Full
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And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint sweet cuckoo-flowers.
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Of love that never found his earthly close, What sequel? Streaming eyes and breaking hearts Or all the same as if he had not been?
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The words 'far, far away' had always a strange charm.
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She has a lovely face God in his mercy lend her grace, The Lady of Shalott.
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As love, if love be perfect, casts out fear, so hate, if hate be perfect, casts out fear.
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A truth looks freshest in the fashions of the day.
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And the days darken round me, and the years, Among new men, strange faces, other minds.
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A pasty costly-made, Where quail and pigeon, lark and leveret lay, Like fossils of the rock, with golden yolks Imbedded and injellied.
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The folly of all follies is to be love sick for a shadow.
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And what delights can equal those That stir the spirit's inner deeps, When one that loves but knows not, reaps A truth from one that loves and knows?
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Faith is believing what we cannot prove.
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Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control these three alone lead one to sovereign power.
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Sunset and evening star, And one clear call for me! And may there be no moaning of the bar When I put out to sea.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Ah! well away! Seasons flower and fade.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Earth is dry to the centre, But spring, a new comer, A spring rich and strange, Shall make the winds blow Round and round, Thro' and thro', Here and there, Till the air And the ground Shall be fill'd with life anew.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Shall it not be scorn to me to harp on such a moulder'd string? I am shamed through all my nature to have lov'd so slight a thing.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
And out of darkness came the hands that reach through nature, moulding men.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
All precious things, discover'd late, To those that seek them issue forth, For love in sequel works with fate, And draws the veil from hidden worth.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Shall love be blamed for want of faith?
Alfred Lord Tennyson