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Battering the gates of heaven with the storms of prayer.
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
Storms
Gates
Storm
Prayer
Heaven
Battering
More quotes by Alfred Lord Tennyson
Tho' much is taken, much abides.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
For every worm beneath the moon Draws different threads, and late and soon Spins, toiling out his own cocoon.
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By shaping some august decree, Which kept her throne unshaken still, Broad-based upon her people's will, And compass'd by the inviolate sea.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
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?
Alfred Lord Tennyson
For now the poet cannot die, Nor leave his music as of old, But round him ere he scarce be cold Begins the scandal and the cry.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
The year is dying in the night.
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The sin That neither God nor man can well forgive.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
The world which credits what is done is cold to all that might have been.
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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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Here at the quiet limit of the world.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear To-morrow'll be the happiest time of all the glad New Year,- Of all the glad New Year, mother, the maddest, merriest day For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be queen o' the May.
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What is it all but a trouble of ants in the gleam of a million million of suns?
Alfred Lord Tennyson
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.
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
The dirty nurse, Experience, in her kind Hath fouled me.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
A louse in the locks of literature.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
There she weaves by night and day, A magic web with colors gay. She has heard a whisper say, A curse is on her if she stay, To look down to Camelot. She knows not what the curse may be, And so she weaveth steadily, And little other care hath she, The Lady of Shalott.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
O Love! what hours were thine and mine, In lands of palm and southern pine In lands of palm, of orange-blossom, Of olive, aloe, and maize and vine!
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Man is man, and master of his fate.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Faith is believing what we cannot prove.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
