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Beauty and anguish walking hand in hand the downward slope to death.
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
Beauty
Death
Hands
Slope
Downward
Slopes
Anguish
Walking
Hand
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If I had a flower for every time I thought of you...I could walk through my garden forever.
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The smell of violets, hidden in the green, Pour'd back into my empty soul and frame The times when I remembered to have been Joyful and free from blame.
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Thoroughly to believe in one's own self, so one's self were thorough, were to do great things.
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I come from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley.
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The time draws near the birth of Christ The moon is hid the night is still The Christmas bells from hill to hill Answer each other in the mist.
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She has a lovely face God in his mercy lend her grace, The Lady of Shalott.
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Every moment dies a man, Every moment one is born.
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But thy strong Hours indignant work’d their wills, And beat me down and marr’d and wasted me, And tho’ they could not end me, left me maim’d To dwell in presence of immortal youth, Immortal age beside immortal youth, And all I was, in ashes. - Tithonus
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Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers.
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I do but sing because I must and pipe but as the linnets sing.
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He will hold thee, when his passion shall have spent its novel force, Something better than his dog, a little dearer than his horse.
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All is well, tho' faith and form Be sunder'd in the night of fear.
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As love, if love be perfect, casts out fear, so hate, if hate be perfect, casts out fear.
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The woods decay, the woods decay and fall.
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Four grey walls, and four grey towers, Overlook a space of flowers, And the silent isle imbowers The Lady of Shalott.
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We cannot be kind to each other here for even an hour. We whisper, and hint, and chuckle and grin at our brother's shame however you take it we men are a little breed.
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Man's word is God in man.
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He that wrongs a friend Wrongs himself more, and ever bears about A silent court of justice in his breast, Himself the judge and jury, and himself The prisoner at the bar ever condemned.
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He is all fault who has no fault at all.
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Life is not as idle ore, But iron dug from central gloom, And heated hot with burning fears, And dipt in baths of hissing tears, And batter'd with the shocks of doom, To shape and use.
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