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Shall eagles not be eagles? wrens be wrens? If all the world were falcons, what of that? The wonder of the eagle were the less, But he not less the eagle.

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
Less
World
Falcons
Wrens
Falcon
Eagle
Eagles
Shall
Wonder

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Strong Son of God, immortal Love, Whom we, that have not seen thy face, By faith, and faith alone, embrace, Believing where we cannot prove.
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The mirror crack'd from side to side The curse has come upon me, cried The Lady of Shalott
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Weeded and worn the ancient thatch Upon the lonely moated grange.
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Ring in the valiant man and free, The larger heart, the kindlier hand Ring out the darkness of the land Ring in the Christ that is to be.
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The woods are hush'd, their music is no more The leaf is dead, the yearning past away New leaf, new life--the days of frost are o'er New life, new love, to suit the newer day: New loves are sweet as those that went before: Free love--free field--we love but while we may.
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A lie which is half a truth is ever the blackest of lies.
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And was the day of my delight As pure and perfect as I say?
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Here about the beach I wandered, nourishing a youth sublime With the fairy tales of science, and the long result of Time.
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I can't sleep without knowing there's hope. Half the night I waste in sighs. In a wakeful doze I sorrow. For the hands, for the lips... the eyes. For the meeting of tomorrow.
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And ah for a man to arise in me, That the man I am may cease to be!
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I found Him in the shining of the stars.
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From yon blue heavens above us bent The gardener Adam and his wife Smile at the claims of long descent. Howe'er it be, it seems to me, 'Tis only noble to be good. Kind hearts are more than coronets, And simple faith than Norman blood.
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Sleep sweetly, tender heart, in peaceSleep, holy spirit, blessed soul,While the stars burn, the moons increase,And the great ages onward roll. Sleep till the end, true soul and sweet. Nothing comes to thee new or strange. Sleep full of rest from head to feetLie still, dry dust, secure of change.
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Half a league, half a league, Half a league onward, All in the valley of Death Rode the six hundred.
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If I make dark my countenance, I shut my life from happier chance.
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The last great Englishman is low.
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Speak to Him, thou, for He hears, and Spirit with Spirit can meet- Closer is He than breathing, and nearer than hands and feet.
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Shall the hag Evil die with the child of Good, Or propagate again her loathèd kind, Thronging the cells of the diseased mind, Hateful with hanging cheeks, a withered brood, Though hourly pastured on the salient blood?
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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