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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
More quotes by Alfred Lord Tennyson
The sin That neither God nor man can well forgive.
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The greater man the greater courtesy.
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The last great Englishman is low.
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My life has crept so long on a broken wing Through cells of madness, haunts of horror and fear, That I come to be grateful at last for a little thing.
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The year is dying in the night.
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Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer Than this world dreams of: Wherefore, let they voice, Rise like a fountain for me night and day.
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Four grey walls, and four grey towers, Overlook a space of flowers, And the silent isle imbowers The Lady of Shalott.
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I cannot rest from travel I will drink Life to the lees.
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More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of.
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If I had a flower for every time I thought of you...I could walk through my garden forever.
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Blind and naked ignorance delivers brawling judgments, unashamed, on all things all day long
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The woman is so hard Upon the woman.
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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.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
For love reflects the thing beloved.
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Like glimpses of forgotten dreams.
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I wind about, and in and out, - With here a blossom sailing, - And here and there a lusty trout, - And here and there a grayling.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Nor is he the wisest man who never proved himself a fool.
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
She left the web, she left the loom, She made three paces through the room
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A daughter of the gods, divinely tall, And most divinely fair.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
