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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
Cry
Poet
Cold
Leave
Scarce
Dies
Scandal
Cannot
Round
Music
Rounds
Begins

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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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For it was in the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid.
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God gives us love. Something to love He lends us but when love is grown To ripeness, that on which it throve Falls off, and love is left alone.
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A beam in darkness: let it grow.
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There has fallen a splendid tear From the passion-flower at the gate. She is coming, my dove, my dear She is coming, my life, my fate The red rose cries, She is near, she is near And the white rose weeps, She is late The larkspur listens, I hear I hear And the lily whispers, I wait.
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Manners are not idle, but the fruit of loyal and of noble mind.
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Fill the cup, and fill the can: Have a rouse before the morn: Every moment dies a man, Every moment one is born.
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The splendour falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story: The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Blow, bugle answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
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My strength is as the strength of ten, because my heart is pure.
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A sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier times.
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Her eyes are homes of silent prayers.
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Rich in saving common-sense, And, as the greatest only are, In his simplicity sublime.
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Twilight and evening bell, And after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell, When I embark For though from out our bourne of Time and Place The flood may bear me far, I hope to see my Pilot face to face When I have crossed the bar.
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I found Him in the shining of the stars.
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Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls.
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For every worm beneath the moon Draws different threads, and late and soon Spins, toiling out his own cocoon.
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In the long years liker they must grow The man be more of woman, she of man.
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Though thou wert scattered to the wind, Yet is there plenty of the kind.
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Her court was pure, her life serene God gave her peace her land reposed A thousand claims to reverence closed.
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Never, oh! never, nothing will die The stream flows, The wind blows, The cloud fleets, The heart beats, Nothing will die.
Alfred Lord Tennyson