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And statesmen at her council met Who knew the seasons, when to take Occasion by the hand, and make The bounds of freedom wider yet.
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
Seasons
Mets
Statesmanship
Knew
Wider
Hand
Statesmen
Freedom
Council
Hands
Occasion
Take
Occasions
Make
Bounds
More quotes by Alfred Lord Tennyson
Man is the hunter women are the game those sleek and shining creatures of the chase. We hunt them for the beauty of their skins they love us for it, and we ride them down.
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How many a father have I seen, A sober man, among his boys, Whose youth was full of foolish noise.
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The thrall in person may be free in soul
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I thought I could not breathe in that fine air That pure severity of perfect light I yearned for warmth and colour which I found In Lancelot.
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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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Is there evil but on earth? Or pain in every peopled sphere? Well, be grateful for the sounding watchword Evolution here.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
I am on fire within. There comes no murmur of reply. What is it that will take away my sin, And save me lest I die?
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Tis not your work, but Love's. Love, unperceived, A more ideal Artist he than all, Came, drew your pencil from you, made those eyes Darker than the darkest pansies, and that hair More black than ashbuds in the front of March.
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Forgive! How many will say, forgive, and find a sort of absolution in the sound to hate a little longer!
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The quiet sense of something lost
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As she fled fast through sun and shade The happy winds upon her play'd, Blowing the ringlet from the braid.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Behold, we know not anything I can but trust that good shall fall At last-far off-at last, to all, And every winter change to spring.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Whate'er thy joys, they vanish with the day: Whate'er thy griefs, in sleep they fade away, To sleep! to sleep! Sleep, mournful heart, and let the past be past: Sleep, happy soul, all life will sleep at last.
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Man is man, and master of his fate.
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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.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
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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I can't be anonymous by reason of your confounded photographs. (To Julia Margaret Cameron)
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In the Spring a livelier iris changes on the burnish'd dove In the Spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.
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Some full-breasted swan That, fluting a wild carol ere her death, Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood With swarthy webs.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
My mind is clouded with a doubt.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
