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Yonder cloud That rises upward always higher, And onward drags a laboring breast, And topples round the dreary west, A looming bastion fringed with fire.
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
Rounds
Upward
Clouds
Dreary
Fringed
West
Rises
Bastion
Higher
Breast
Yonder
Fire
Cloud
Laboring
Always
Drag
Drags
Breasts
Looming
Round
Onward
More quotes by Alfred Lord Tennyson
I cannot rest from travel I will drink Life to the lees.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
The noonday quiet holds the hill.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
And blessings on the falling out That all the more endears, When we fall out with those we love And kiss again with tears!
Alfred Lord Tennyson
I waited for the train at Coventry I hung with grooms and porters on the bridge, To watch the three tall spires and there I shaped The city's ancient legend into this.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
A sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier times.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Only reapers, reaping early In among the bearded barley, Hear a song that echoes cheerly From the river winding clearly, Down to towered Camelot.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Wearing all that weight Of learning lightly like a flower.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
The bearing and the training of a child Is woman's wisdom.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Launch your vessel, And crowd your canvas, And, ere it vanishes Over the margin, After it, follow it, FollowThe Gleam.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Sweet is every sound, sweeter the voice, but every sound is sweet.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Cricket, however, has more in it than mere efficiency. There is something called the spirit of cricket, which cannot be defined.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
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.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
I will love thee to the death, And out beyond into the dream to come.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
And oft I heard the tender dove In firry woodlands making moan.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Let the great world spin for ever down the ringing grooves of change.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
The dream Dreamed by a happy man, when the dark East, Unseen, is brightening to his bridal morn.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
An English homegrey twilight poured On dewy pasture, dewy trees, Softer than sleepall things in order stored, A haunt of ancient Peace.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Science grows and Beauty dwindles.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
He makes no friend who never made a foe.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
