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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
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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
Cannot
Round
Music
Rounds
Begins
Cry
Poet
Cold
Leave
Scarce
Dies
Scandal
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I am half-sick of shadows,' said The Lady of Shalott.
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Sweet is true love, though given in vain.
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Her eyes are homes of silent prayers.
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The world which credits what is done is cold to all that might have been.
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Break, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, oh sea! And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me.
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So now I have sworn to bury All this dead body of hate I feel so free and so clear By the loss of that dead weight
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Lo! sweeten'd with the summer light, The full-juiced apple, waxing over-mellow, Drops in a silent autumn night. All its allotted length of days The flower ripens in its place, Ripens and fades, and falls, and hath no toil, Fast-rooted in the fruitful soil.
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Sin is too stupid to see beyond itself.
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Love is hurt with jar and fret Love is made a vague regret.
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But the churchmen fain would kill their church, As the churches have kill'd their Christ.
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And every dew-drop paints a bow.
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Here about the beach I wandered, nourishing a youth sublime With the fairy tales of science, and the long result of Time.
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All experience is an arch wherethro' gleams that untraveled world whose margins fade forever and forever as we move.
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But what am I? An infant crying in the night: An infant crying for the light: And with no language but a cry.
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By blood a king, in heart a clown.
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We are self-uncertain creatures, and we may Yea, even when we know not, mix our spites And private hates with our defence of Heaven.
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All Life needs for life is possible to will.
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The quiet sense of something lost
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Be near me when my light is low... And all the wheels of being slow.
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O last regret, regret can die!
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