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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
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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
World
Torn
Rapine
Heal
Sparrow
Woods
Sparrows
Harm
Plunder
Nature
Swallow
Littles
Prey
Little
Preacher
Whole
Wood
More quotes by Alfred Lord Tennyson
Is there evil but on earth? Or pain in every peopled sphere? Well, be grateful for the sounding watchword Evolution here.
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Ours is not to wonder why. Ours is just to do or die.
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More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of.
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Old men must die, or the world would grow mouldy, would only breed the past again.
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By shaping some august decree, Which kept her throne unshaken still, Broad-based upon her people's will, And compass'd by the inviolate sea.
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Silence, beautiful voice.
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Cleave ever to the sunnier side of doubt.
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A louse in the locks of literature.
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I grow in worth, and wit, and sense, Unboding critic-pen, Or that eternal want of pence, Which vexes public men.
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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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The greater person is one of courtesy.
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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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What is it all but a trouble of ants in the gleam of a million million of suns?
Alfred Lord Tennyson
After-dinner talk Across the walnuts and the wine.
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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.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Happy days roll onward leading up to golden years.
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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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A truth looks freshest in the fashions of the day.
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...and our spirits rushed together at the touching of the lips.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
I can't be anonymous by reason of your confounded photographs. (To Julia Margaret Cameron)
Alfred Lord Tennyson
