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And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint sweet cuckoo-flowers.
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
Meadow
Trenches
Meadows
Faint
Flowers
Blow
Flower
Cuckoo
Sweet
Cuckoos
More quotes by Alfred Lord Tennyson
Our little systems have their day They have their day and cease to be… And thou, O Lord, art more than they.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Little breezes dusk and shiver.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
I will love thee to the death, And out beyond into the dream to come.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
And the sun went down, and the stars came out far over the summer sea, But never a moment ceased the fight of the one and the fifty-three.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Let knowledge grow from more to more, But more of reverence in us dwell That mind and soul, according well, May make one music as before, But vaster.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Though much is taken, much abides and though We are not now that strength which in old days Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are One equal temper of heroic hearts, Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
I do but sing because I must and pipe but as the linnets sing.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Ring out the grief that saps the mind, for those that were here we see no more.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
The wild swan's death-hymn took the soul Of that waste place with joy Hidden in sorrow: at first to the ear The warble was low, and full and clear.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
The golden guess is morning-star to the full round of truth.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
I must lose myself in action, lest I wither in despair.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
A louse in the locks of literature.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Lo! sweeten'd with the summer light, The full-juiced apple, waxing over-mellow, Drops in a silent autumn night. All its allotted length of days The flower ripens in its place, Ripens and fades, and falls, and hath no toil, Fast-rooted in the fruitful soil.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
God gives us love. Something to love He lends us but when love is grown To ripeness, that on which it throve Falls off, and love is left alone.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
The old order changes yielding place to new.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
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.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
The dream Dreamed by a happy man, when the dark East, Unseen, is brightening to his bridal morn.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
A life of nothing's nothing worth, From that first nothing ere his birth, To that last nothing under earth.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
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
