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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
Like
Saws
Swarms
Mystery
Mellow
Fire
Tangled
Stars
Glitter
Universe
Flies
Braid
Science
Shade
Thro
Night
Silver
Braids
Many
Rising
Swarm

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In the afternoon they came unto a land In which it seemed always afternoon. All round the coast the languid air did swoon, Breathing like one that hath a weary dream.
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So sad, so fresh the days that are no more.
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Old age hath yet his honour and his toil.
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Faith and unfaith can ne'er be equal powers Unfaith is aught is want of faith in all.
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The time draws near the birth of Christ The moon is hid the night is still The Christmas bells from hill to hill Answer each other in the mist.
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Half the night I waste in sighs, Half in dreams I sorrow after The delight of early skies In a wakeful dose I sorrow For the hand, the lips, the eyes, For the meeting of the morrow, The delight of happy laughter, The delight of low replies.
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Shape your heart to front the hour, but dream not that the hours will last.
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And oft I heard the tender dove In firry woodlands making moan.
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Bible reading is an education in 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.
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The parting of a husband and wife is like the cleaving of a heart one half will flutter here, one there.
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I stood on a tower in the wet, And New Year and Old Year met, And winds were roaring and blowing: And I said, O years, that meet in tears, Have ye aught that is worth the knowing? Science enough and exploring, Wanderers coming and going, Matter enough for deploring, But aught that is worth the knowing?
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the shell must break before the bird can fly.
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A louse in the locks of literature.
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Nor is he the wisest man who never proved himself a fool.
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And men, whose reason long was blind, From cells of madness unconfined, Oft lose whole years of darker mind.
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'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.
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For this is England's greatest son, He that gain'd a hundred fights, And never lost an English gun.
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A classic lecture, rich in sentiment, With scraps of thundrous Epic lilted out By violet-hooded Doctors, elegies And quoted odes, and jewels five-words-long, That on the stretched forefinger of all Time Sparkle for ever.
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Life is not as idle ore, But iron dug from central gloom, And heated hot with burning fears, And dipt in baths of hissing tears, And batter'd with the shocks of doom, To shape and use.
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