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The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends, Tis not too late to seek a newer world.

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
Voice
Round
Nature
Rounds
Come
Slow
Many
Seek
Wanes
Long
Moon
Moans
World
Late
Newer
Deep
Climbs
Friends
Voices

More quotes by Alfred Lord Tennyson

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One so small Who knowing nothing knows but to obey.
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Sunset and evening star, And one clear call for me! And may there be no moaning of the bar When I put out to sea.
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Who trusted God was love indeed And love Creation's final law Though Nature, red in tooth and claw With ravine, shrieked against his creed.
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Better not be at all than not be noble.
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Love's too precious to be lost, A little grain shall not be spilt.
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Man is man, and master of his fate.
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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 this alone on Death I wreak The wrath that garners in my heart: He put our lives so far apart We cannot hear each other speak.
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That a lie which is all a lie may be met and fought with outright, But a lie which is part a truth is a harder matter to fight.
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But every page having an ample marge, And every marge enclosing in the midst A square of text that looks a little blot.
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Gone - flitted away, Taken the stars from the night and the sun From the day! Gone, and a cloud in my heart.
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I wind about, and in and out, - With here a blossom sailing, - And here and there a lusty trout, - And here and there a grayling.
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This world was once a fluid haze of light, Till toward the centre set the starry tides, And eddied into suns, that wheeling cast The planets: then the monster, then the man.
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the shell must break before the bird can fly.
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Only reapers, reaping early In among the bearded barley, Hear a song that echoes cheerly From the river winding clearly, Down to towered Camelot.
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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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Courtesy wins woman all as well. As valor may, but he that closes both is perfect.
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It's better to have tried and failed than to live life wondering what would've happened if I had tried
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What! I should call on that Infinite Love that has served us so well? Infinite cruelty rather, that made everlasting hell, Made us, foreknew us, foredoom'd us, and does what he will with his own Better our dead brute mother who never has heard us groan.
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I will be deafer than the blue-eyed cat, And thrice as blind as any noonday owl, To holy virgins in their ecstasies.
Alfred Lord Tennyson