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Old men must die, or the world would grow mouldy, would only breed the past again.
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
Would
Mouldy
Men
Breed
World
Grow
Grows
Dies
Death
Past
Must
More quotes by Alfred Lord Tennyson
I cannot rest from travel: I will drink Life to the lees: all times I have enjoyed Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those That loved me, and alone.
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Virtue must shape itself in deed.
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Silence, beautiful voice.
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Jewels five-words-long, That on the stretch'd forefinger of all Time Sparkle forever.
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Love's too precious to be lost, A little grain shall not be spilt.
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'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.
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Not wholly in the busy world, nor quite Beyond it, blooms the garden that I love. News from the humming city comes to it It sound of funeral or of marriage bells.
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Till last by Philip's farm I flow To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go, But I go on for ever.
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In words, like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er, Like coarsest clothes against the cold
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My mind is clouded with a doubt.
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The long mechanic pacings to and fro, The set, gray life, and apathetic end.
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Dreams are true while they last, and do we not live in dreams?
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Men, my brothers, men the workers, ever reaping something new.
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The dirty nurse, Experience, in her kind Hath fouled me.
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And o'er the hills, and far away Beyond their utmost purple rim, Beyond the night, across the day, Thro' all the world she follow'd him.
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Arise, go forth, and conquer as of old.
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Manners are not idle, but the fruit of loyal and of noble mind.
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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.
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For it was in the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid.
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A classic lecture, rich in sentiment, With scraps of thundrous Epic lilted out By violet-hooded Doctors, elegies And quoted odes, and jewels five-words-long, That on the stretched forefinger of all Time Sparkle for ever.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
