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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.

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
Stars
Call
Clear
Moaning
Death
Sunset
May
Bars
Evening
Star
Sea

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The dirty nurse, Experience, in her kind Hath fouled me.
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Dowered with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn, The love of love.
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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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But what am I? An infant crying in the night: An infant crying for the light: And with no language but a cry.
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All is well, tho' faith and form Be sunder'd in the night of fear.
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The parting of a husband and wife is like the cleaving of a heart one half will flutter here, one there.
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Of love that never found his earthly close, What sequel? Streaming eyes and breaking hearts Or all the same as if he had not been?
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So many worlds, so much to do, so little done, such things to be.
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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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There's no glory like those who save their country.
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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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Though thou wert scattered to the wind, Yet is there plenty of the kind.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Tho' much is taken, much abides.
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He clasps the crag with crooked hands Close to the sun in lonely lands, Ringed with the azure world, he stands. The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls He watches from his mountain walls, And like a thunderbolt he falls.
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A doubtful throne is ice on summer seas.
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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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I waited for the train at Coventry I hung with grooms and porters on the bridge, To watch the three tall spires and there I shaped The city's ancient legend into this.
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What's up is faith, what's down is heresy.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Where love could walk with banish'd Hope no more.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
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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.
Alfred Lord Tennyson