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Many a night I saw the Pleiads, Rising thro' the mellow shade, Glitter like a swarm of fire-flies, Tangled in a silver 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
Fire
Tangled
Stars
Glitter
Universe
Flies
Braid
Science
Shade
Thro
Night
Silver
Braids
Many
Rising
Swarm
Like
Saws
Swarms
Mystery
Mellow

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Of old sat Freedom on the heights The thunders breaking at her feet: Above her shook the starry lights She heard the torrents meet.
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An English homegrey twilight poured On dewy pasture, dewy trees, Softer than sleepall things in order stored, A haunt of ancient Peace.
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Nature is one with rapine, a harm no preacher can heal The Mayfly is torn by the swallow, the sparrow speared by the shrike, And the whole little wood where I sit is a world of plunder and prey.
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All night have the roses heard The flute, violin, bassoon All night has the casement jessamine stirr'd To the dancers dancing in tune Till a silence fell with the waking bird, And a hush with the setting moon.
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More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of.
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I grow in worth, and wit, and sense, Unboding critic-pen, Or that eternal want of pence, Which vexes public men.
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So many worlds, so much to do, so little done, such things to be.
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France had shown a light to all men, preached a Gospel, all men's good Celtic Demos rose a Demon, shriek'd and slaked the light with blood.
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Not wholly in the busy world, nor quite Beyond it, blooms the garden that I love. News from the humming city comes to it It sound of funeral or of marriage bells.
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Theirs is not to make reply: Theirs is not to reason why: Theirs is but to do and die.
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Flower in the crannied wall, I pluck you out of the crannies, I hold you here, root and all, in my hand, Little flower-but if I could understand What you are, root and all, all in all, I should know what God and man is.
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Come, my friends Tis not too late to seek a newer world Push off, and sitting well in order smite The sounding furrows for my purpose holds To sail beyond the sunset and the baths Of all the western stars, until I die
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And o'er the hills, and far away Beyond their utmost purple rim, Beyond the night, across the day, Thro' all the world she follow'd him.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Such a one do I remember, whom to look at was love.
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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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The woods decay, the woods decay and fall, The vapours weep their burthen to the ground, Man comes and tills the field and lies beneath, And after many summer dies the swan. Me only cruel immortality Consumes: I wither slowly in thine arms, Here at the quiet limit of the world.
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The city is built To music, therefore never built at all, And therefore built forever.
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A truth looks freshest in the fashions of the day.
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The noonday quiet holds the hill.
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All Life needs for life is possible to will.
Alfred Lord Tennyson