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Too much wit makes the world rotten.
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
Rotten
Wit
Makes
Much
World
More quotes by Alfred Lord Tennyson
She left the web, she left the loom, She made three paces through the room
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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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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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Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control these three alone lead one to sovereign power.
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Short swallow-flights of song, that dip Their wings in tears, and skim away.
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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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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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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.
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There's no glory like those who save their country.
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Weeded and worn the ancient thatch Upon the lonely moated grange.
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The bearing and the training of a child Is woman's wisdom.
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She hath no loyal knight and true, The Lady of Shalott.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
I am going a long way With these thou seëst-if indeed I go (For all my mind is clouded with a doubt)- To the island-valley of Avilion, Where falls not hail or rain or any snow, Nor ever wind blows loudly but it lies Deep-meadow'd, happy, fair with orchard lawns And bowery hollows crown'd with summer sea, Where I will heal me of my grievous wound.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
By blood a king, in heart a clown.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Virtue!--to be good and just-- Every heart, when sifted well, Is a clot of warmer dust, Mix'd with cunning sparks of hell.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
And the stately ships go on To their haven under the hill But O for the touch of a vanished hand, And the sound of a voice that is still!
Alfred Lord Tennyson
O last regret, regret can die!
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Faith and unfaith can ne'er be equal powers Unfaith is aught is want of faith in all.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Old age hath yet his honour and his toil.
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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.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
