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As the husband is the wife is thou art mated with a clown, As the grossness of his nature will have weight to drag thee down.
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
Thee
Weight
Husband
Grossness
Wife
Mated
Art
Matrimony
Nature
Clown
Drag
Thou
More quotes by Alfred Lord Tennyson
Dear as remembered kisses after death, And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feign'd On lips that are for others deep as love, Deep as first love, and wild with all regret O Death in Life, the days that are no more!
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The passionate heart of the poet is whirled into folly and vice.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
The old order changeth, yielding place to new, and god fulfills himself in many ways, lest one good custom should corrupt the world.
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She is coming, my own, my sweet Were it ever so airy a tread, My heart would hear her and beat, Were it earth in an earthly bed My dust would hear her and beat, Had I lain for a century dead Would start and tremble under her feet, And blossom in purple and red.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
My strength is as the strength of ten, because my heart is pure.
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I am on fire within. There comes no murmur of reply. What is it that will take away my sin, And save me lest I die?
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the shell must break before the bird can fly.
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Too much wit makes the world rotten.
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The greater person is one of courtesy.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
God made thee good as thou art beautiful.
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She sleeps: her breathings are not heard In palace chambers far apart. The fragrant tresses are not stirr'd That lie upon her charmed heart She sleeps: on either hand upswells The gold-fringed pillow lightly prest: She sleeps, nor dreams, but ever dwells A perfect form in perfect rest.
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What is it all but a trouble of ants in the gleam of a million million of suns?
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The happiness of a man in this life does not consist in the absence but in the mastery of his passions.
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Happy he With such a mother! faith in womankind Beats with his blood, and trust in all things high Comes easy to him and tho' he trip and fall, He shall not blind his soul with clay.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Do we indeed desire the dead Should still be near us at our side ? Is there no baseness we would hide ? No inner vileness that we dread ? How many a father have I seen A sober man, among his boys Whose youth was full of foolish noise.
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Ah, why Should life all labour be?
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How dull it is to pause, to make an end, to rust unburnished, not to shine in use! As though to breathe were life.
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Nature, red in tooth and claw.
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There twice a day the Severn fills The salt sea-water passes by, And hushes half the babbling Wye, And makes a silence in the hills.
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Short swallow-flights of song, that dip Their wings in tears, and skim away.
Alfred Lord Tennyson